That Which Wanders is Unaware
by morgianesff
Summary: Nora is just a normal woman, with a few abnormal circumstances. All she wanted was to spend the evening watching movies and relaxing with her kitten. Now she is fighting to stay alive, threatened by a man she thought was her friend, and wondering whose this mysterious 'HE' is that wants her. (Not slash. More Loki than Clint. LOKI/OC, some CLINT/OC interaction. Hints @ romance, not)
1. Day 1: part 1

It goes without saying, or at least it should, that I own nothing. I own none of the Avengers. If I did then I promise you I wouldn't be spending my time writing about them, this story is written for myself, by myself, for fun. I welcome all criticism whether its flames or praise. If you don't like my story then by all means, don't read it, and if you have any suggestions, I welcome those too. I have never taken any classes on writing, so if the grammar or structure is poor I apologize.

Well, now that's the technicalities are taken care of, on with the reading, and I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

_Golden. Tall cliffs. Birds flocking in the mists. Green..._

"Nora?" Hearing my name I jerk up. I hadn't even realized I'd zoned out.

My forehead had been pressed against the glass of the vending machine. Standing in the doorway watching me with analytic concern is none other the Dr. Erik Selvig. _Well this is embarrassing._ I'm sure I'm flushed enough to put a tomato to shame right now, no doubt looking like a true fool. I probably even have a nice red circle on my forehead.

"Oh! Doctor! I'm sorry, I'm just gonna, um, yeah..." _That part about looking like a fool just became a reality._

His eyes widen slowly at my babbling with the barest hint of a smirk. "Well that's a convincing argument there if I ever heard one."

It shouldn't have surprised me, but somehow yet again the sound of his blanketed concern has managed to do just that. I've never been able to pin down exactly where it stems from, but I seem to expect callousness more than kindness from people. Though I am proud to say that expectation is rarely actually met.

I react in the only way that seems appropriate at the moment. I offer up an embarrassed chuckle and start rubbing the back of my neck sheepishly. "Yeah, I'll have to take that one down for later."

His chuckle joins mine for a moment, before the concern comes out completely. "Are you feeling alright Nora?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." I say it with a soft nod, even as a twinge flares behind my eyes and takes away all my credibility. He looks at me skeptically, and a bit scolding at the same time."Ugh..." Looking up at the ceiling with a look of disdain I complain to all the things that aren't there."...thanks a lot. Your timings exceptional as always."

I look back down to find Erik trying not to chuckle, and shaking his head in amusement at my antics, "You know, you should be careful what you do in front of me my dear. I might start thinking you're crazy."

At these words I almost want to die laughing. "Yes, because the guy who had coffee and eggs with the God of Thunder has any right to call 'me' crazy."

Both of us laugh at this, taking the jests for exactly what they are. But the humor fades away quickly. "It's this damn heat, I swear, I'm not made for deserts."

I'm not exaggerating either, I absolutely hate this climate. It's so damn hot during the day I swear I'm going to melt, and at night I feel like if I stop moving I'll freeze to the ground. The only time I find any comfort is the evening and the dawn, and of course that comfort is always short-lived. Not that the Helicarrier is any better.

The air pressure on that thing always makes my head feel like a balloon. Pressurized air is just too unnatural for me.

"I don't know how you do it doc, I'd take Norway over this any day...at least it can make up its mind." Again he laughs, and again I think it's a sound I'll never get tired of, genuine laughter.

"So you're done for the day I take it?" The question is directed more at my back then my face as I bend down to claim my snack out of the vending machine.

"Yep..." I tell him rising from the almost bowing position I turn to face him again. "...and don't worry, I didn't forget."

He almost looks sheepish as I preempt the question and just go straight to the answer. _He's so adorable like that._ I always make sure the coffee pots are constantly full and fresh before I leave for the night. I don't know what these scientists would do without it.

As that was his purpose here in the first place he begins making himself a cup. "I just have one more thing to do tonight, then I'm out of here." I watch him nod absently as he tracks down the sugar. "It's in the cupboard on the left." He pauses, processing my words briefly before his hands claim the handles and open the cupboard to reveal the item in question.

"So you're heading back to the lab than?" He asks, now finished preparing his coffee and facing me.

Pushing off the table I had been leaning against I nod. "Yep, figured I'd just wait and walk with you." This has become something like a routine. Even if I do not always find him here in the cafeteria I always make a point of finding him at the end of my work day. It usually isn't a hard task since he seems to be in the lab or the cafeteria most of the time.

He held open the door for me like a gentleman, something that never ceases to amuse me. If it weren't for his age I'd think it an attempt at scheming chivalry. "Well then, let's get going shall we? I'm sure you don't want to keep the 'Hawk' waiting."

Once inside the lab itself Erik is quickly called away back to his work. I know the man loves his job, in a strictly scientific sense this is like his holy grail, but that aside I still don't see how he does it. Letting that train of thought fade to the background I decide to focus my attentions on my reason for coming here. Craning my neck I can see Clint up in his usual spot. He doesn't look at me, but I know he can see me down here looking at him.

He answers my wave with one of his own, his eyes still scanning the lab the whole time. Shouting at him would be counterproductive, and piss off the scientists, so we adapted to using simple hand signals instead. There is a certain wave to let me know if I can come up or not. The one I received tonight is the one that counts as permission.

Reaching the top of the ladder I find him in the exact same position as he had been before I started climbing, and likely had been for hours. His arms are folded and resting on one of the bars, pillowing his chin which rests on them, and his legs are hanging casually over the edge.

"I hate your inability to cramp." The comment would probably sound random and out-of-place to anyone else's ears, but its somehow normal when between us. He doesn't turn to face me but I can see his mouth quirk into a smile and his body shakes from a muted chuckle. Not needing any more permission than I've already been given I arrange myself next to him, mimicking the position and letting my legs hang.

Pulling my bag around onto my lap I began digging through the giant cloth container. I don't know why I like this bag so much, its large and cumbersome, and I can never seem to find what I'm looking for in it. Finally my fingers recognize the object I seek and pull out the stainless steel Bento box. It's become almost a tradition between us since he was assigned to this job. I bring him food when I leave, and in the morning I collect the empty one to clean it for the next day.

I pack the boxes as full as I can, but not with an actual meal. He doesn't actually eat it in one session. He just nibbles on it slowly throughout the day, so I fill it accordingly with lots of dried fruits, nuts, and jerky. I even go through the trouble of keeping it low on sodium so he doesn't get thirsty and drink a lot.

Holding it out, he takes the tin quickly. I'm not offended at all by the way he doesn't look at me as he does, or the fact that he just sets it at his side. It's one of our normal odd interactions. I know he is paying attention to me in his own way. He has an uncanny ability to divide his focus seemingly without limit. I find the empty tin of his slides to me in response, and I quickly shove it into my bag. "So, boring as usual then I take it?"

I can see his lip quirk at that comment. "You sound disappointed."

Sighing dramatically I let myself fall back onto the grate floor, my arms pillowing my head. "I am. We have this awesome super cube space thingy and all you guys do is poking at it. It's so lame." Looking up at the ceiling I decided that it is also rather lame. _I wonder if that pockmark was always there, or if Clint got bored and fired off an arrow...an exploding one maybe...I wish I could have seen that..._

"You are aware that 'lame' is a good thing, it's the safest thing."

Still studying the ceiling, and imagining Clint going all Robin Hood on the walls I wave dismissively at him. "Doesn't make it any less boring."

Lifting up my legs I press them against the metal bar above them for leverage as I pivot back into a sitting position more dramatic than necessary. I even include a deep sigh out through my nose to complete the effect; something I know amuses Clint from experience. I do enjoy trying to get him to smile. He is always so somber and serious when he works.

Not that he can't be in a lighter mood, he just usually covers it with sarcasm, which I'm fine with. Truth be told its almost like a game, a mostly one-sided game but a game none the less. I do this with others as well, little interactions with no other purpose but to bring a reaction out, usually smile or a laugh. I would be a liar if I said I do not enjoy these little games and the challenge they offer. The twinge returns, prompting me to massage the bridge of my nose yet again.

"Another headache?" Clint's casually concerned tone reached my ears as I finish rubbing away the last of the discomfort and just shake my head.

"More like a dull throb." I note him nodding softly as his eyes continue to study every little detail going on down below.

Erik is studying what looks like a readout and comparing it to some chart on the screen, his attention drifting quickly between the two as he jots down notes and hands out directions. Deeming whatever Erik's doing as boring once again I refocus my attention on the statue at my side. And almost jump out of my skin. "Sweet Jesus Clint!"

He is looking at me, _ME!_ Successfully having given me a heart attack he just laughs as his eyes go back to the lab.

"You're an ass, just for the record." I can feel my heart pounding furiously in my chest, but can't keep the breathless chuckle from joining those words. _I hate it when he does that._ It's pathetic that he can even do it, and annoying. I'm not a jumpy person.

Finally catching my breath I shoot an attempt of a pout at him but its ruined by my smile, so instead I punch his jacket covered arm playfully. The radio went off just long enough to distract him and actually let me hit him, earning me a look of surprise, annoyance, and amusement before we both focus on the voice coming through the radio.

"I'd appreciate it if she continues breathing Mr. Barton, I would be hard pressed to find a suitable replacement for her." Says Dr. Selvig's slightly annoyed tone via the field radio clipped to his belt. For a second my mind doesn't really process the words, just because of the absurdity of it, and then I slowly bust out laughing.

It only gets worse when Clint takes up the radio and replies with a slightly snarky tone and an eye roll. "I'll do my best sir."

_Okay, gotta calm down. Inhale, exhale..._ Finally conquering the case of the giggles I get back to my feet. "I should probably get going before they send somebody up here to rescue me."

I can see him roll his eyes at that, but the tug of his lip takes away any chance of me mistaking him for being actually annoyed. "Indeed, they wouldn't want anything to happen to the coffee girl."

Laughing I point my finger at him dramatically in mock irritation. "Best damn coffee girl ever I'll have you know!"

He closed his eyes, inclining his head and raising his hands in defeat. "I surrender, oh mighty goddess of the pot." Smothering another bout of giggles I let all my amusement show instead in my giant grin as I pat him on the shoulder to say goodbye, getting a silent nod in return as his attention focuses back on his job.

Reaching the bottom of the ladder I readjust my bag and wave goodbye to some of the less busy scientists who notice my presence before I exit the lab. I really wish they would install an elevator down here, but I gave up asking a long time ago. I got tired of hearing some crap about how the cube might react to the electronics. _It's so stupid, it's like they forgot the 'whole' lab is full of electronics._

With no other options I head for the spiraling staircase leading to the upper levels of the facility and my eventual exit. The guards at the checkpoints offer up a brief word of parting or gestures as I make my way through them one after another until I'm finally outside, and find myself almost missing the dry cold air. _I hate the desert._

Enduring the heat I make my way quickly over to the parking garage with a bit of a skip in my step. The thought of a home cooked meal and a long hot shower motivating my feet to their current pace. Getting my I.D. ready I stop at the guard station. Like everything else in S.H.E.I.L.D this area is no exception to the bells and whistles of technology. You have to pass a checkpoint just to go to and from your vehicle.

Sticking my I.D. in the machine I watch is it sucks it in, then removing one of my gloves place my hand on the fingerprint scanner and let that damnable blue light leave me seeing spots before the gate clinks and hisses open. Stepping through, still in the same amount of hurry, I collect my I.D. on the other side, where it was waiting patiently for me like it always does.

It did not take me long to locate my jeep and leave the base, passing one more checkpoint before I'm officially on my way back to my rented house. The little under hour ride is made all the quicker by my satellite radio playing Mozart l'Opéra Rock loudly enough to drown out my attempts at singing in French, a language I know only enough of to recognize.

It isn't long before I find myself in Rawlins and pulling into my driveway. Yet again I can see some of the neighbors watching my arrival with the hopes of new gossip to spread. It seems I am quite the story around here. They all want to know where I come from, who I work for, and if I'm single. Unfortunately for them most of that information is classified, and the stuff that isn't really is none of their business.

Moving with haste I turn off my metal steed for the night and quickly gather up my bag. I don't want to be caught by Miss Harriman tonight. She is a nice enough woman, but she can be rather overbearing most of the time, and I do not want to throw away yet another casserole. I've told her many times that I'm more than capable of cooking, but each time she insists, saying that the less time I spend in the kitchen is more time I can spend looking for a man.

_I swear this town is trying to breed me like some sort of prized pony... _Checking that the coast is clear I slip out of my jeep as stealthy is I can and make record time getting into the house. Once inside I let my back fall against the door with a laugh, feeling a bit like some kind of a spy and imagine Natasha's face if she ever saw me doing that.

Any thoughts on our resident Miss 'Super Spy' vanish as I feel my bare leg being molested by fuzz. Before the claws join the effort I scoop up my little housemate. "Awe, hey Jarjar baby."

He squirms, eager to get out of my hold and onto his preferred perch but I'm not ready to let him escape my hands yet. Pulling him close to me I puff a bit of air in his little striped face, chuckling as he tries to pat the breeze away. My teasing doesn't last too long as he adopts the cutesy eyes and licks my nose with a soft mewl.

_Clever little brat, gets me every time._ Relenting I let him go, his tiny baby claws probably leaving little red dots past my arm length gloves as he practically prances up my arm to his favorite spot on my shoulder. It doesn't take him long to get comfortably curled up on my shoulder, his little tail wrapped around the back of my neck like an anchor.

Satisfied my passenger is secure I make my way into the house, dropping my bag on the couch to deal with later. I have more pressing issues at the moment, first and foremost being taking care of my kitten. I love the fluff right off my little tabby Siamese mix, and I have ever since Steve gave him to me.

It was a surprise visit after I insisted neither of us should spend our first holiday alone that turned into one of my most memorable mini adventures so far. It was really a pity that he had to stay in New York, but once my assigned time here is done I think I'll be going back here, and I'll get to see him again.

Giggling softly as I am drawn back to the present I feel his scratchy little tongue slide over my neck. Tickling him under the chin I coo at him. "Aww, my cute little baby."

Entering the kitchen I laugh briefly at my kitten's antics. As soon as we are close enough he scuttles down my arm onto the counter and begins pacing and meowing impatiently for more food, even though his food dish on the floor is still full. "Such an appetite." I chuckle at him, only making him meow louder and more impatiently for his treat.

"Oh, alright, alright, I'm getting it." I laugh exasperated as I open the fridge and pull out two Tupperware containers, one of leftover split pea soup and the other has a salmon patty, which Jarjar wastes no time fawning over excitedly.

He all but cries as I pick it up, "Aww baby, shh, you're still getting it." I laugh with a pout at his desperation.

Opening the container I laugh softly as he literally stands on his haunches to try and reach it while I am in the process of getting a spoon. Scooping some in the little bowl I just laugh again as no sooner than its in reach he all but attacks it, almost pushing the bowl out of my hand before I can even get it on the counter.

"You're so silly." I chuckle as I pet his back, laughing again at the little growls I get between his chewing. With that done I turn to the next Tupperware, and take a pot from the dish rack. I dump the leftover soup in it and set it on the stove to warm on the lowest setting. By the time I finish my bath it should be ready to eat.

Turning back to the other counter I grin at the sight that greets me. Jareth is almost inside the bowl, trying to lick clean any residue that has somehow made its way into the crease where the sides of the bowl meet the bottom, even though there is obviously nothing there. Scooping him up I just smirk at his protesting mewls as his little paws scramble to try and hang onto the counter somehow.

He calms down though as I make a cradle for him in my arms. Sitting on his back legs again he rests his front paws on my chest and pets himself against the underside of my chin, purring contentedly as I scratch his back on the way to the bedroom.

I close the bedroom door with my heel making a point of listening for the click of the latch before I continue on. I wouldn't want Jareth to get out. I know my kitten well enough that he would try to get at the food heating on the stove, and electric burner or not I don't want to risk it.

Stepping over to the bed I set him on it. He looks at me confused for a moment, but then loses interest. His belly is full making him crave a nap which takes precedent over whatever I'm doing. He soon begins getting comfortable, pacing in a small circle as he arranges my sheets how he wants them.

Satisfied he was alright I begin getting myself ready as well. Stepping into the bathroom first I turn on the water, and adjust the temperature. With that I lean across the tub to the wall cabinet and pull out my bubble bath. It's one of my favorites, scented with plum and vanilla. Squeezing a generous amount in I watch delighted for a moment as it begins to suds up before continuing on and getting the rest of my stuff ready.

Stepping back out into the bedroom I grab up a simple change of clothes for the rest of the night, a knee length tee-shirt and a sports bra with some underwear seems plenty since I'm expecting no one and going nowhere.

Stepping back in the bathroom I set my clothes on the sink for later before I turn to the other side of the counter and put on my Sirius radio. I have a few of them around the house courtesy of Tony, but this one is always set to a meditative channel. As the light flowing notes drift out the speaker I slip out of my clothes for the day at last.

Padding across the floor I carefully step in, my toes pulling back tentatively at the heat before I suck it up, and slowly lower myself in. Giving my skin time to adjust to it as I go. I finally find myself all the way in the almost too hot water. Leaning back with a content sigh I close my eyes and listen to the soft crackle of the bubbles along with the music.

Stretching heavily I let out a dissatisfied groan. Like it usually ends up doing the time has all kind of blurred together in a relaxed haze, but however long it was it was enough for the water to lose its warmth. Sighing one more time I decide I probably should get out.

Groping around under the filmy water I find the plug and pull it free. The water drains quickly as I stand up and play with the hot and cold handle again for a second, then switch on the shower. Very quickly I wash off the soapy residue from my skin and out of my hair with another hot spray of water to renew my warmth before I hit the cool evening air. Finally that is done too. Turning off the water I step out of the shower leaving wet footprints as I walk over to the sink where my clothes are waiting for me.

Quickly pulling on my clothes despite my still wet skin I toss the towel around my shoulders for now, just letting my short choppy locks drip into it as I step back into the bedroom. Soon, after I clear the bathroom and the cloud of steam that as enveloped the small room, I almost groan at the smell that greets me.

The steam and bubble bath scent had kept it out of the bathroom, but now I can smell it. Onions, garlic, bay, and rosemary as well as the bacon are all wafting deliciously through the house. "Mmmhhh, that's gonna be the death of me..." I grumble excitedly, then chuckle as my voice inspires Jareth to make his opinion known as well, his little voice mewling with the same excitement.

"Awwh." I coo at him, curling my finger to scratch him under the chin, something he starts purring for right away. "I haven't forgotten you baby, give mommy a minute okay?"

His response is just to roll over and try to catch my dancing fingers and nibble on them. Turning my attention from him I merely smirk at his annoyed expression before I take the towel up again and vigorously dry my hair, once finished I rest the towel over the end of the bed frame to worry about later. Wiggling my toes into the carpet I walk over to the door, turning back to the eager ball of fuzz on my bed with a grin as I take the doorknob in hand. "Well, you coming little man?"

I chuckle when I hear a small 'thomp' hit the floor and turning to look over my shoulder I can't help but grin. Following behind me with quick proud steps is Jarjar as he strives to keep up with my quick pace. I know exactly what his goal is. I can never feed him enough, I really can't.

"You eat more than the Captain does my little soldier, are you going to be big and strong like him too?" I ask as he scoots past me and uses a chair to hop up to the counter, where he proceeds to bat at the air and mew as if answering.

"Ohhh..." I cradle his face in my hands, ignoring his fussing as I give him an Eskimo kiss."You are just soo adorable. Yes you are." I coo, before the blinking red light on my answering machine gets my attention.

Looking back at my kitten then the blinking light I sigh and release him before going over to the phone dock. I let out an audible "Crap…" to match my internal one. I have two messages. _Please don't let it be work._ I plead silently.

I've been told before by Coulson that I need to keep the phone on at all times in case of an emergency. I didn't turn it off though. I just turned the ringer down the other day and forgot to turn it back up. _It's not my fault though, damn election season. Everyone and their mother's brother's aunt from Canada has been calling trying to get my vote. _I grumble as I step over to the blinking red number.

Lingering for a moment I finally get the courage up to press play. The longer I wait the worse it could be after all. "You have two new messages..." The mechanical voice informed me."...first message received at 10:50 p.m." The robotic voice vanished and is replaced by the very voice I was nervous about hearing.

Cringing a little it takes my mind a moment to process the words the voice is saying. "Miss Elaine, this is Agent Coulson. There has been a breach of security. A level seven has been issued. I repeat a level seven. All personnel are to report in. Agent Barton has been compromised. Remain where you are, agents are being dispatched to your location now. Do not open your door for Barton. I repeat, do not open your door for Barton."

I stand there frozen, not even blinking I am so stunned by what I just heard. _Clint? Compromised? But how?_ I was just there, just a little bit ago. He was fine. I saw him, up there in his perch, and he was fine. _He was even laughing with me._ The sudden kicking in of the machine voice shocks me out of my thoughts and back to reality, and only confuses me even more. "Second message received at 10:52 p.m."

"Nora..." _That voice?!_

"It's Clint. We've been attacked. Coulson's gone rogue. Everyone's being called in. Stay there, I'm on my way. Don't open that door for anyone but me, Kay?" _What is going on?_

I don't know how long I stood there staring at the machine in shock but my head snaps up in surprise at the sound of someone pounding against the front door. I can feel my heart beat pick up even as I clutch at my chest a little in fright. But it doesn't last long, the familiarity of the voice that follows comforting me. "Nora its Clint, open up we gotta go!"

"Oh! Thank god, Clint! Hang on." I say loud enough for my voice to carry around the corner to him as I hurry to the door to let him in, but even as I make my way there my steps begin to slow.

"_Barton has been compromised..."_

I pause, my fingers hovering undecided over the door knob as Coulson's voice continues to echo in my head.

"_...do not open your door for Barton."_

I gulp softly looking at the door and the man beyond the wood. "What is going on?"

Even as those words leave my tongue I wince slightly because of the hesitant tone. _Crap, please don't let him have heard that._ I can see his shadowy form move beyond the little glass windows at the top of my door. I still can't get Coulson's warning out of my head, or Clint's.

_Who do I trust?_

His voice breaks into my musings, spoken quickly and concisely. "There was an attack Nora, Coulson has turned traitor. The base is gone, we're at a level 7. We need to leave now. Everyone is being called back. Come on and let me in." His words don't give me anything to ease my confusion which only makes it worse somehow.

I toy with my lip nervously as I look at the doorknob, still not sure what I should do. They both said the other had turned. But how could that be? I mean, in such a short amount of time? To switch sides like that?

"Okay, just... Coulson called..." _But wait, Coulson wasn't even in the state, why would he call?_ He wasn't due back for a couple days, "But then you called..." _Now Clint is here, by himself? Wait? If the base really fell why would he be alone, unless…_

Gulping softly I back away from the door a little in fear. _Clint only works alone when he has a target..._"I-I I'll get my things, j-just let me pack..." _I need to get to my phone._ Turning quickly on my heels I begin down the hall, trying to convince myself I'm just being paranoid and the call will clear it all up.

"Ah!" I curl up instinctively as a loud explosion breaks the silence before I even make it halfway. Dropping down I cover my ears before I have time to think about it. When reason returns to me, it is to the sight of Clint storming into my house. My plan to call for help is now forgotten. It has been replaced by my desire for a weapon instead.

Backing up and moving quickly, I retreat from the man I now don't recognize at all. He looks absolutely murderous, absolutely foreign to me. It's still physically my friend's face but the look of it is completely different. I glance around frantically until my eyes rest on something at last, and my fingers waste no time claiming it. "C-Clint... ple-please..."

He is in the room quickly, but his steps are slowing as his eyes see the letter opener in my hand. They linger there for a moment before they meet mine drawing a gasp from me.

_Oh god, his eyes!_ Even as his hands go up in a peaceful gesture all I can see are those eyes. Even as he asks me to come with him all I can think is, _what happened to you Clint?_

I shake my head frantically as I keep the distance between us, the dull metal excuse of a weapon still fixed on him. I don't believe it, what he is saying, what he is trying to prove. _His kind words, it's a trap, I can see that._ He steps farther in and I move to place the couch between us like a shield.

"N-no, you… you broke down my door." My voice trembles as my fright continues to grow, becoming strong enough for tears to begin to prick at my eyes. "I...I'm not going with you."This is really bad, if he gets a hold of me he will probably kill me. "Please... Please just... Get out Clint, your scaring me! Just get out!"

His tone stays friendly as he slowly continues around the couch. But for every step of his I back track away. My eyes glance at the kitchen my mind reeling for an escape. The kitchen exits into the garage and then outside. It may be my only chance.

"Nora darling..." He tries again. "Put it down. We don't have time for this." He sounds like he is joking around though, like it's just one of our games.

_Oh, please no..._ I shake my head sharply, my eyes burning with fear and denial. I just want to wake up. "Make time!" I shout, my body starting to shake. "Get out!" At these words any and all kindness that was in those eyes, those unfamiliar icy eyes, suddenly vanishes. They become just as cold as their new color.

"Nora. Don't make me hurt you." That makes me flinch because my Clint would never even think about saying that. His voice is flat and stern now, and even his body language reflects that. He doesn't look like my friend now, or even like he is pretending to be it. Now he just looks like a predator. "He wants you alive."

I stiffen at that, the words strange enough to stun me for a moment. _He?_ Not Fury, or the Director, but _'He'_. But that moment of surprise is not allowed to go to waste. Clint is vaulting over the couch quicker than I can blink, and I am letting my reactions go unquestioned. Turning on my heels I bolt as fast as I can for the back door. But my attempted escape doesn't get very far.

His bare hand wraps painfully around my wrist and jerks hard. Tumbling backward I struggle not to fall, but then I become more concerned with breathing. I am spun around and slammed viciously into the fridge. Even before I can catch my breath his forearm lands heavily against my collar-bone and pins me there.

"Ack...ehaw..." I choke briefly on my own breath from the violent treatment but force myself to ignore the way my chest is burning or the way my head is swimming from bouncing off the metal. I have much bigger concerns. "Clint..." I gasp out weakly. "Clint... Please..." I try to push him off me, to get his skin off mine, but without success."...let me go..." Then all my attempts to reason with him fade, driven away in the face of sheer terror as I watch him pull a syringe from his pocket. _No! No! Please no!_

"No! Clint! Please! Clint! It's me! It's me!" I struggle against him desperately, but end up seeing stars and gasping as he slams me back into the metal appliance again. As my head rolls to the side for a moment I see my salvation. _Oh god, please forgive me._

He stumbles back with a pained cry as the hot metal pot and the soup in it connect with the side of his head. No longer restrained I fall to the floor. I can feel my arm torn and bleeding from the tip of the needle, but take it is a blessing it missed its target and didn't pierce my jugular like he planned.

Gasping in surprise, then pain, I hit the ground hard, my feet slipping traitorously on the soup, but I don't let that stop me. Scrambling desperately I put space between me and my currently insane friend.

But like before, this escape attempt doesn't get far. His weight collides hard with my waist, and sends me crashing face first into the floor. Disoriented and dizzy it takes me a second to get my senses back giving him long enough to fight my hands into his control. That however becomes a much lesser concerns as I feel something against my legs. Something heavy and metal and very, very sharp.

He glares furiously at me, not at all moved by my quaking pleas for mercy. As he leans a little to the side to let me see, "Last chance Nora. Will you be a good girl?" He all but hisses out as he holds his giant serrated knife against my leg.

I shudder underneath him trapped by both his weight on my waist and his hand clutching my wrists as the tip of his knife presses into my skin menacingly. I'm not sure where it came from and I find myself screaming. "SOMEBODY HELP ME!" The cry quickly transforms though, into one of white-hot pain as his knife drives its way straight through my leg between the bones, and deep into the floor below.

As soon as he is satisfied with my suffering he lifts himself off me, leaving me in agony pinned to the floor by his blade. Sobbing I curl up into a ball, trying to minimize the pain and protect myself at the same time.

"You should have just given in darling." He grumbles as if my resisting was the stupidest thing in the world. Reaching into another of his pockets he pulls something else out, this time a handful of zip ties. I try to struggle again as he fights for my hands. "Hold still you stupid bitch, it will hurt a lot l...AH!"

He jerks back violently, almost rolling off me his face contorts in pain and anger suddenly. It isn't until he scrambles back to his feet and turns around that I realize the cause. Jareth, tiny little creature that he is has latched onto the back of his neck. All twenty little razor-sharp claws and teeth extended and is attacking Clint furiously for hurting his mommy.

I don't waste the opportunity he has given me. Gritting my teeth beyond the pain I wrap my hand around the handle and begin tugging and rocking the blade free of the floor. Crying from the pain it finally gives, a scream ripping from my throat as the blade shreds my muscles as it is yanked out of my flesh.

The blinding agony fades from my vision just in time for me to see something fly across the room with a screech. It isn't until after it hits the bookshelf, creating an avalanche of books, that I realize it was my kitten. _My kitten, my baby, my little boy with nine names, buried beneath a mountain of books and injured!_

Suddenly the pain seems secondary, and so does my fear of him. Scrambling to my feet I grab the nearest thing to me. It turns out to be my heavy oak and glass coffee table, and taking it up by two of its legs I swing it as hard and as fast as I can. He shields himself with his arms, but it still knocks him off his feet as it connects with his side and shatters around him.

It stuns him just long enough for me to unearth my unconscious and bloody little hero and hobble into the hall. Even as I slam the door shut and barricade it with a chair I can hear him getting back to his feet, shouting my name furiously. My leg is almost numb from the white pain shooting through it as I limp my way over to my bedroom, the blood trailing down my skin and staining the floor as I fling my closet open. Grabbing a bunch of my clothes I rip them off the hangers and into a pile on the floor. As gently as I can I lay his little body down, crying softly when he meows in pain.

"Shh baby..." I look back the door apprehensively. "It's gonna be okay, I'm so sorry baby, I'm so sorry." I whimper, heartbroken at what I know I have to do if I want to live. Then toughening up I get back up from my knees, trying not to cry from the pain and close the closet door.

Hobbling across the room to my night stand I almost fall into it in my haste. Ripping out the draw I let its contents scatter over my floor forgotten. I can hear him in the hall now, rattling the doorknob. My real objective is the gun taped on the back of the space behind the draw. With a frightened yell I almost curl back into myself as the door suddenly explodes in a cloud of plaster dust and flying splinters. Finally my hand wraps around the gun and I whip it around, right into his murderous form. I fire but he is quicker than me, and my hands were shaking with too much terror.

He jerks to the side as the first shot fires out, embedding in the wall behind him. Before I can fire again he is right in front of me. He knocks my hand up as the next shot fires wildly. Then his hand has wrapped around my wrist. I struggle desperately, yelling at him to stop. My yell turns into another scream of pain when he takes my captured wrist, and slams it against the corner of the night stand.

"AH!" I manage to hang onto it still but he only does it again. This time I can feel the bones in my hand give under the force. The gun is flung uselessly from my broken hand.

Yet even that isn't enough. I scream again as he jerks me around by my broken hand, again straddling me. "No! Clint! Sto...agnh!"

My protests, but not my struggles, are cut off by what he does next. Those strong and sturdy hands of his wrap themselves tightly around my throat and press down hard. Gagging I try frantically to open my airway back up as I feel his hot, roughened hands all but burn into my soft skin. Kicking and clawing I don't even seem to remember the pain as my fear takes over. But no matter what I throw against him he doesn't let up.

"Shh..." I can hear him say suddenly soothing as my senses start to dim rapidly. "Relax and it will be quicker. Don't fight it Nora, it will be over soon..."

One of the last things I see is those strange pale blue eyes, and all I can think is, _why?_

* * *

Please leave a review.


	2. Day 1: part 2

Hello again. Sorry it took so long, I lost the use of my internet for a while. Anyways, this is the part where I say again, that I don't own any of the Avengers (or "cough" Loki "cough"). Because lets face it, if I did I'd be doing much better things (cough "people" cough) with my time than writing story's for you wonderful folks. So now without further delay. Dun! Dun! Dun! CHAPTER TWO!

* * *

Moving with brisk steps I pay no mind to the chaos going on around me. My destination is one of the rooms already set up for personal quarters. Though this bunker is not extravagantly equipped, it has all the necessities, and on such short notice I am more than satisfied with it.

Already there are some men at work arranging the space for the equipment that will be coming. My newly acquired enforcer is quite capable it would seem, and I am also more than satisfied with him. He keeps up easily, despite the weight of the unconscious woman in his arms. I finally enter one of the rooms and he wastes no time skirting around me.

The room is sparsely equipped as I expected it to be, but I can acquire better furnishings later. At the moment all it has is a simple bed, big enough for only one person, a chair, and a small table with a storage chest sitting next to it. It is very utilitarian, but functional all the same. There is only one entry and exit point of the room, with the exception of a small air duct built into the ceiling.

She groaned softly as the enforcer sets her on the bed, arranging her with her legs flat and her arms crossed. Her discomfort does not surprise me, my soldier was quite brutal in the way he acquired her. When I ordered him to retrieve her, I did not anticipate that he would use such a level of force. But though I do not approve of the broken state she is in at the moment, I am at least pleased with the knowledge that he is obviously willing to employ violence if it is deemed necessary. I will no doubt have use of that aggression later.

But for now that is not my focus. I dismiss him with a wave, vaguely noticing that he takes up a guard position next to the entrance. I smirk a bit amused at that, but then turn all my attention to my 'guest' who is currently still sleeping, though fitfully, and lying on the bed before me.

Despite her bruised, battered, and all together Midgardian appearance, I find her still quite a lovely creature. Though I haven't had a chance to confirm it, I imagine at her full height she will be about a head shorter than me. Her skin, while partly scraped, bruised, and stained by blood, is an otherwise smooth shade of pale, with only the slightest hint of a tan. At the moment her dark honey colored locks have been shortened rather like a man, and I do not like the look, having a preference for the more traditional length that I am used to. However taking in the shape of her face, heart-shaped as it is with her soft features and full lips, I find her a subtle and unassuming sort of beauty.

Sitting on the edge of the bed I take care not to disturb her. A task made all the more difficult by the way the springs groan loudly under my weight. But even the racket of the cheaply made metal frame is not enough to stir her at the moment. I find myself mildly concerned by that. From the blood trickling out of a wound hidden beneath her eyebrow it is obvious enough that she received at least one blow to the head. It would be a true shame if the injury were more serious than some broken skin.

Studying her expression I can tell that she is far from comfortable, even unconscious as she is, and I would not be surprised if she is caught in a dream. _Or perhaps..._ I think as I hear her whimper softly _...a nightmare._

* * *

I'm walking on cotton ball fluff. No wait, I'm not walking. I'm swimming, yes that's right, but why am I swimming in cotton ball fluff? When did I get here? _I was..._

"Nora..." _I know that voice._ Turning and forgetting my confusion I tread the cotton water in a different direction.

"Clint." I say and wave excitedly before I start walking toward him. He is carrying something."Oh, you brought Jareth." I add with a smile, and reach out to pet him.

My baby reaches up, his little hands tugging on my thumb. "There are only eight now, change my name mommy?" He asks, and I nod. "I will sweetie, when I get home." I say as I run my hand over his fur, and he begins to glow orange and spread out. The orange wraps itself around Clint's hands as one reaches for my shoulder, and the other my throat.

_Skin! His skin is hot, it's so hot!_

I try to back up, but suddenly there is something wide and flat and hard beneath me. "Clint stop, please, stop." The words are calm, but I can feel the terror, like cactus needles, against my skin._ It's so cold, and heavy._

"Run Nora! Run NOW! RUN!" Comes Clint's voice, but it doesn't match his mouth. His lips aren't moving right, and his head is jerking faster and faster like something out of a bad movie. Then there are those eyes, they're glowing. The glow is spreading and as it does so does the pain.

"_Stop it, it hurts, it hurts! IT HURTS!"_ At first all my senses registered was that something cold was touching me, and that this something was firm. But then as the haze lifted a little more, I realized that this cold hard thing, was actually five things, and these five things had the texture of skin. That realization was enough to wake me completely.

Jolting up I instinctively strike out, knocking the hand that had been touching my face away in fear, but my actions are short-lived. My body immediately protests my sudden movement, and my moment of fright transforms into one of pain. I had planned to get up and run, but now all I can manage is to prop myself on what feels oddly like a mattress, and wince in pain, trying to smother the sounds that want to leave my throat. But as I feel a pair of cool hands wrap around my arms I don't try to keep the sound inside anymore.

No! No..." My frightened whimper is interrupted by the voice of a man.

His is tone soothing and soft. "Shh, it's alright now, I will not hurt you little one." I shiver both out of fear and confusion, but also because of his cool skin. I try to squirm away but his grip remains secure and steady as he moves me, pulling me up from my collapsed lean and maneuvering me into a sitting position before finally letting go of my arms.

If I couldn't already feel the metal bars of the headboard behind me I would probably try to move even farther away. But now, fully conscious, I can feel the pain to match my memory, and some new ones that apparently needed the time to surface.

Like most people after the panic releases its control of their actions, I find myself with questions. But at the moment, they are questions I don't want to ask. The situation and my bruised throat are, for the time being, an effective deterrent to speech. Leaning as far into the headboard as I can I cradle my injured arm up against my chest in a protective manner as I take in the other person in the room with me warily.

_He. Clint said 'He'..._ I may be scared, but I'm not stupid. He said a man wanted me, and now that I'm awake, its to the sight of a man.

He seems tall, or at least taller than me. There is also a notable slenderness to him as well. Not that he looks thin or frail, but he is not broad and bulky by any means. He is dressed in leathers and metal, the craftsmanship of his attire is obviously as fine as it is strange. There is a long leather vest, that nearly touches the floor. It has formed shoulders and folded lapels, and its accents are a tarnished golden color.

Over one shoulder is something that seems similar to a pauldron and it is also golden, with a design pounded into it. I don't pay enough attention to it though to notice in detail as I continue quickly looking him over. The shirt beneath it seems to have a chest plate built into it, with a golden pattern in it that mimics a collar bone shape.

His lower arms down to his wrist are covered by metal gauntlet, of the same color and pattern work as what is on his shoulder. Beneath the armor is a series of crisscrossing leather straps sewn together into one, and a flap of leather extending at an angle past his hip.

Still unsure of the situation I don't let my study continue lower than that, but even so I notice that his pants and boots are also leather and just as finely made as the rest of his clothes.

The man himself I notice several things about. Even with his thinner frame, there is still a decidedly masculine air to him. But it isn't like some men, it's not prominent and overbearing, he is subtle and almost more refined.

There is a narrowness of his face, the jaw more tapered than some I've seen. The thin nature of his seems to have extended to more than just the frame of his bone. His nose is this way as well, and almost perfect in its lack of bumps or ridges. His lips are thin and even relaxed his mouth is long making his cheeks look as if he is smiling a little.

His hair is a raven shade, appearing to have a blue tint in its slick long strands. The style he wears it in exposes his face without any obstructions. His skin is almost flawlessly pale, but at the moment he looks tired and perhaps a little ill, given the slight circles around his green eyes. _Green...?_

An unfamiliar sequence of sight flashes through my head before I shake it off. _No, not now... I can't have an episode now._

I can feel it, creeping like oil, trying to seek out any cracks it can find and force its way through. _A room of golden rings, a sword in his hands._ No, I will not, I can't fall into a haze now. _The waves were angry, golden eyes._ It feels like my head may split, or shrink into itself, but I resist these thoughts. _Pitiless, "I will not repent."_

_This never happened, these are not mine._ Finally the illusions begin to fade, and melt back into the depths. But what they leave me with offers no more comfort than their presence had. There before me, is still the man I know nothing of, not even the memory of his face.

I wince, but grit my teeth against the small cry as I pull my injured arm closer, aggravating my broken wrist in the process. It would be better for me to not move it at all, but I just can't overcome my nerves. By all rights I expected to wake up dead, but now that I'm sure I did not I don't know if where I find myself is any better.

"I mean you no harm." The strange man says with a reassuring tone and a soft smile as he notices my lingering distress. "You have suffered more than necessary already."

I don't believe it for a second, the way he said that offers me no comfort. If anything it leaves room for the assumption that I might earn more suffering later.

"Wh..." My voice cracks and chokes on itself, the abuse done to my throat flaring up in protest. It feels hot and raw, as well as dry and very sore. _They were so rough, it was like hot steel, and sand pap..._

_NO! No! I won't!_ It takes a great effort, just as great as before, to not lose myself in the memory. I can't do that now. It's not safe for me to do that now.

Clearing my throat I wince at the motion, but continue with the effort anyway. "Wh-who are you? What do y-you want?" Details like that are important, it might give me an idea of just how much of a mess I'm in, but seeing the smile that spreads across those lips I can't help but wish I had never asked.

He chuckles softly his head dropping a bit as if he had done something embarrassing, "My sincerest apologies for my lack of decorum. I have not yet introduced myself properly have I?"

I shake my head just a little, not sure what else to do. _His manners are the least of my concerns._ Part of me is a bit comforted by the way he presents himself as a gentleman, but at the same time I am well aware that appearances are most often deceiving. I can't help but think of the character Hannibal, and am praying that this man is not such a person.

"I am Loki. Of Asgard." He says in a stately and formal way as he offers me a small bow from his seated position.

"Asgard?" My voice is quiet, little more than a whisper as I'm more focused on thinking. These are words I know, but I can't quite remem...

_Erik._ That's right, Erik told me. The myths of the Norse, or at least they were myths until a man fell from the sky in New Mexico. _Thor. The God of thunder._ A myth, a legend, a fan of coffee. Erik told me such stories. _...and others came too...there was a battle._

_A monster made of metal?_ Erik almost died. Even now that bothers me, I didn't even know him yet, and he almost died all because that thing was sent here, _by...? Loki, of Asgard..._ I remember where I heard that name before but I wish I didn't.

"Loki...of Asgard..." I say a bit breathlessly, and he nods with a pleased smile. "...you're... Thor's brother..."

The smile drops. That simple shift of the corners of his lips is all it takes to make me want to shrink further into myself. It's such a simple change in his expression, but it is enough. His face no longer looks even remotely innocent or gentle. Now he looks rather cross.

But the expression only lasts for a second. It doesn't turn back into a smile, but levels out to somewhere between that and a frown.

"Indeed..." I never thought I'd be so grateful for a neutral look as I am now. "...the very same."

As his attention refocuses on me completely I can't help but feel the urge to shrink away. It is an urge so strong that I forget the state I am in, until I move. The ragged torn muscles in my leg protest savagely at even the slightest shift, sending a sharp pain racing through my nerves before I still my limb. _I hadn't even moved an inch._

The urge returns almost as strong though as I notice his eyes drift to my legs. But this time I have more sense than to aggravate the wound. It doesn't lessen my discomfort, however, not with the way his eyes linger on my naked limbs, the tee-shirt I was taken in doing almost nothing to hide my skin from him. Desperate to get his attention somewhere else I bring out my voice again despite the discomfort.

"You... Didn't answer my... Other question..."

He chuckles at that, and I'm not entirely sure I like the way the sound comes out. It makes me feel like I amused him, but annoyed him all at the same time. _I may know nothing about my situation yet, but I know annoying your captor is never a good idea._

"No, I did not." Is his simple yet direct and to the point response, spoke with a smirk.

The message within those words is very clear. He is not going to take anything that even hints at a challenge to his authority lightly. I hadn't meant it to sound like I was demanding an answer, but now realize that it had.

"I-I... I didn't mean t-to off..." The words fold in on themselves as he offers up another one of those amused smiles he seems so fond of.

"Oh, but of course you did not. We have only just met, it is not your fault, the mistake was an honest one, and it is forgivable."

I nod again meekly in way of a thank you. It's becoming more and more apparent that speaking may be a bad idea. The way he said that, I'm not sure if it was deliberate or not, but I get the feeling my next 'honest mistake' might not be so forgivable. I'm realizing quickly that assuming things is not a good idea either, but one assumption I am sure of, is that this man is very, very dangerous.

"But enough idle chat has happened for now. You are still injured, and those wounds need to be tended." Despite my caution I almost object, but then I notice his gaze drift past my head to something behind me. "Agent Barton, if you would go acquire what your people consider medical supplies it would be appreciated."

_Clint! Clint is here?_

Turning around as much as I can, I look over my shoulder. My eyes land on what I expected after hearing that name. But I'm torn. My initial reaction is relief at the sight of a man I have known for a few years, and have called friend for nearly as long. But my second reaction is to shrink further into the mattress at the sight of those eyes.

Those frosty irises flick over to mine for a second, and as they meet mine I can't help but flinch and look away. Then he returns his attention to the man sitting next to me and nods, with a clipped 'yes sir' before turning and walking briskly out of the room, and taking my questionable sense of security with him.

_Clint..._

"You look absolutely forlorn." Came that smooth voice, with a hint of sympathy in it. It draws my attention back to him, which is where it should be since I'm trapped alone in the room with him. "By your reaction I would guess that man a close companion of yours?"I close my eyes a little, wincing at the verbal sting. "Am I correct?"

I can feel my jaw tighten in anger, but wrestle it down for my own safety, "Yes."

He looks at me for a moment saying nothing, then smirks a little more, and motions for me to continue expectantly. "Do elaborate little one."

I swallow a little at the affectionate term he uses yet again. I really don't like what that implies, and I'm hoping I'm just imagining the meaning behind it. "H-he, he is like fa-amily."

"Family?!" He glances at the door Clint left through for a moment and then looks back at me his smirk turning into a full-blown grin. "You would call that man family still? Even after what he inflicted on you?"

I look to him, intent on saying something scathing, something to defend my relationship with Clint. But the words just die in my throat, and I turn away, hiding my face from those damnably green eyes.

"Oh, I have upset you." He says it like he is sorry, but I can't bring myself to believe him.

_Wake up..._ I start reciting to myself silently, hoping against hope that this is all a nightmare, and I'll wake up to find I fell asleep in the tub somehow. I flinch tensing up as I feel his finger brush over my hair like I was some kind of pet.

"Do not fret. I will be more specific in his orders so it does not happen again."

I sob a little at that. My assumption confirmed. _He really is the one who...made... Clint do that. _I won't accept any other scenario. He did something to Clint to make him not Clint, he had to have. I don't know what, but I'll bet it's something to do with his new eyes.

"Please..." I whisper out like a whimper. His expression becomes even more sympathetic. His hand moving further over my hair, making me pull away abruptly as his unusually cool skin brushes the shell of my ear. "Please let us go, please..."

His expression loses it's sympathetic cast, darkening a bit, and my courage abandons me yet again.

Its only a short reprieve as his attention is drawn back to the door. The hinges creaking a bit as it opens to reveal Clint. The sight of him there seems to bring the air back into the room, even if it's not likely to improve my situation, the hope still lingers somewhere in the back of my mind.

_Clint might...no, Clint has to be in there still. Somewhere._ But the ability to breath goes away just as quickly when Loki turns back to me, his eyes bearing nothing pleasant in their depths."Let you go? I am most curious indeed, to know why you think you can demand such a thing from _'me'_?" He says, each word sharp and precise, his expression bitter with restrained wrath.

I shiver, trying and failing to sink further into the headboard. "I-I did-didn't, I wasn-n't..." I stammer quickly, honestly and truly afraid of this man. He looks like he will strike me, and very likely much more than that. "Pl-please, I'm… I'm just the coffee girl, I... you d-don't need me, you don't, an-and I-I won't tell..."

His expression changes again back to sympathy. He moves through moods so quickly I'm beginning to wonder if perhaps he is bipolar, a reasonable and terrifying guess all at the same time. "You do not need to fear me so little one. I have given your companion a new purpose in life, and I will give you one as well."

I can't even speak. I want to yell, to scream, to do something. But now I'm too scared. _A new purpose?! He gave Clint a new purpose?! He is going to give me one?! I don't want it, whatever he did to Clint, I don't want it!_ I just look at him wide-eyed and breathing heavily, shaking my head quickly, my thoughts saying what my mouth won't.

_No, please no!_

If he noticed my distress at all, he does not seem to care in the slightest. He stands up suddenly, moving off the bed and away from me. It would have been an action that gave me relief, if it wasn't immediately followed by Clint's approach.

"No! No please!" I plead without purpose. I already know they won't offer me any mercy. But I can't help it, not against the fear his touch promises to give me. All thought of pain vanishes as I start trying to get away. Even when the pain does flare up I don't stop. "Clint! Please! You know! You know!" I cry out desperately, trying to kick his hand away when it reaches for me.

It doesn't work, and his rough calloused hand wraps around my ankle and yanks me back across the bed. It feels like fire against my skin. I let out a sobbing scream and continue to fight against his hands. But easily enough he catches one of my wrists. It turns out to be the broken one, drawing out a pained cry to go with my terrified one.

Now with two of my limbs in his control he pulls me closer, easily getting a hold of me by the waist and lifting me off the bed. Still terrified I manage to twist around in his hold and start pushing and clawing at him to get free. He grunts a little in annoyance but doesn't release me as he hauls me across the room to the heavy metal chair in the middle of it.

When we reach it he all but throws me into it. My attempt to rise from it though is met with a brain rattling blow to the side of my face.

I let my head stay where it lands, turned to the side and hanging as I sob quietly. My vision is still swimming, and my ears are actually ringing from the force of his blow. I'm quite sure if I tried to lift my head too soon I might end up sick on the floor.

But I am still aware of what is going on in the room around me. I can vaguely see the one called Loki grabbing Clint's hand, looking none too pleased that he hit me. Then the sound of his boot heels rings loudly through the room, one click at a time as he moves closer to me. I start to shiver again in fright, but with Clint watching me like he is that is the only motion I dare make as my captor kneels down to my level with concern in his eyes.

His hand reaches out, and I jerk away automatically at the thought of feeling skin on mine. A small whispered "Please." slips out before I can catch it. But his hand never touches me. It just hovers there, nearly touching but not.

Instead he lets my avoidance of his touch turn my face to where he wants it, and my eyes back to his. His expression seems sad and cross all at the same time. "So the agent and doctor spoke truly. You really do terrify at the touch of another's skin."

My breath catches deep in my chest and sticks there. _He told him?!_ I glance at Clint quickly in dismay then back to the man in front of me still bearing the same expression."Y-You knew?"

He nods softly, his expression almost kind. "Yes, I was informed of your phobia while you lay sleeping. Your friends have told me much of 'you'."

I gulp softly, only now catching the fact he is speaking of more than one, and that he used the word 'doctor' a second ago too. "M-my fri-iends?"

His smile becomes amused again. "Yes little one" He glances at Clint again, and orders him to fetch the 'doctor'. Receiving a brisk nod from him Clint acts like the soldier he is and moves without delay to carry out his orders, the door creaking again as it shuts. Then the man turns back to me. "I believe you call him by the name Erik Selvig."

_Erik! He has Erik too!_

Before I can even really think about it that damnable door is creaking again, this time two sets of footsteps enter instead of one. He stands up and moves around behind me so I can see. The other person that enters with Clint breaks my heart even more.

Gray khaki's, brown leather shoes, a plaid button up shirt, a tie, balding hair, and frosty blue eyes. It is Erik, but it's not my Erik. He smiles at me as he sees me, and it hurts even more.

"Nora, you really are awake!" He says very excited and happy to see me, as if nothing is wrong. It is just becoming too much, everything is happening so quickly and going so wrong. I let out a small gasping sob, making his smile falter a little. "Oh, don't cry Nora. It's alright. I know it's a lot to take in at once, but you don't need to worry. Loki is going to fix everything S.H.I.E.L.D did to you, you'll see."

I just look at him, confusion and sadness written all over my face. There wasn't a word in that sentence that made any sense. _Fix me? What S.H.I.E.L.D did to me?_ "Erik please! What's wrong with you?"

His reassuring smile falters a little in confusion and then brightens again. "Nothing is wrong with me. Nora. Now don't you worry..." He trails off as he begins looking for something in his pocket, then turns back with that still bright smile, "...this will help you relax while we fix you up."

He is holding a syringe and a small bottle.

"No!" I immediately try to get up out of the seat, but am prevented by a pair of strong heavy hands shoving me back down roughly. "Ah! No! ..." I plead as those hands and the arms attached wrap around my chest from behind the chair, the owner of them rests his chin against my shoulder.

"Shh, hush now little one." Come soothing words in that smooth voice again. It does nothing to calm me down. I try frantically to somehow get out of the chair again, but his arms may as well be metal for all the good my efforts do me.

"No, stop! Please stop! ..." I yell, sobs mixed in as feel them start touching my skin. Clint is on one side and Erik on the other. They are securing my arms and legs to the chair with zip ties. They even use a belt around my waist to trap me further. "Please let me go, please, please, please..." I just start sobbing and fall as limp as I can against the bonds when I feel those arms release me, his footsteps moving around to the front of me.

My tears, my pleading, even my thwarted struggles and shaking mean nothing to any of them. Clint is motionless and professional, not at all seeming even remotely concerned or affected by my suffering.

Erik on the other hand does seem to care that I am upset, but at the same time he seems like he is on some sort of drug and everything is a new and wondrous experience that he can't wait to share with me.

While the man who is in control of my friends like some kind of puppet master is still kneeling in front of me whispering a few soothing words and running his hand over my hair like I am some sort of pet even as I try to pull away.

Even bound as they are my muscles still jerk as I feel the touch of the sterilized swab against my skin, the dampness of the alcohol remaining for a moment after as it slowly evaporates."No. Don't, please, please don't." I whisper once more, any sense of pride I was clinging to long gone as I beg mercy of this man in front of me.

He merely smiles softly and shakes his head as I watch Erik begin to fill the needle, flicking the tip to remove any air. His hand shifts to rest at the back of my skull lightly as he moves a bit to the side so Erik has access to my arm and I feel the pinch of the needle when it breaks my skin. I'm not sure what was in that needle, I don't know if it was poison or medicine, but I can feel it doing its job and it is ripping the world from my grasp again.

But even as everything fades around me I am aware of him gently forcing me to bend my head to him and planting a kiss on my hair. "I will make you whole again Arnora, I will remake you into what you were always meant to be."

I want to say that it is not my name, that my name is just Nora and that I have never heard that name in my life. That becomes unimportant when very distantly past the haze I can feel the fire that always comes with a touch. Now I find that even though I don't understand why this has to happen to me, all I want is for the world to release me quicker.

* * *

Now don't shoot me. I am very aware, that I ended the last chapter much the same way. Truth be told, I didn't like ending it there, but it seems most appropriate, and well, cliffies keep you coming back for more. So leave a review so I know I'm doing this right, and not just pointlessly exercising my fingers. I like hearing what my audience thinks, and or wants.


	3. Day 1: part 3

Hello all, this is the part where I say again, that I don't own any of the Avengers (or "cough" Loki "cough"). Because lets face it, if I did I'd be doing much better things (cough "people" cough) with my time than writing story's for you wonderful folks. So now without further delay, the thing you came here for. The story continues. Also, I created a Photobucket account for this story, and others I might make. I'll put the link in my profile, or you can just search for my user name, it is the same is on here.

* * *

_God..._ I knew the situation was going to be unfavorable the second we turned onto her road. A small caravan of black SUV's always attracts attention. But even more when there is a flock of curious and concerned neighbors outside. They were already swarming around the house when we arrived. Most of them were talking frantically, or fumbling with their phones. While still others of the more courageous variety were attempting to look inside through the gaps between the curtains. But it seems none have made an attempt to go inside yet, a slightly charred and still smoking door frame being a convincing deterrent.

Some of the agents began snatching up cell phones and cameras to the usual argument that 'this is unconstitutional' and 'you won't get away with this!' The others were taking the less wrath inspiring route and gathering witness reports to find out what went on in our absence.

As for myself I grabbed two other agents, enlisting them in the task of clearing the house. If we were lucky she would still be in there. But at that point, I wasn't holding out for luck.

_Coulson is going to ruin me for this._ I grumble as I glanced over my shoulder at them to see if they are ready.

One by one they nodded, letting me know they were prepared for whatever the situation inside might be. Then in almost artful unison we started to move despite the surprised gasps from a few attentive witnesses. We begin to enter the house with pistols drawn.

When you have to enter a home through the charred and splintered remains of a blown up door you already know it's going to be bad. That just goes without question. So it also goes without question that I wasn't expecting to find Miss Elaine in there baking a pie and humming a cheerful tune, though if I did I'd be a very happy agent indeed. However as we clear the living room I'm already finding reasons to not be.

Laying on the moss colored floor runner is her phone, or the remains of it. Letting the other agents continue clearing the house I begin looking for evidence, and start with that. It looks like it was crushed under a boot heel, which if our suspicions about who was here are confirmed would be something he would definitely do.

Picking it up I look it over. It's useless now, but the screen is still clinging to life, and beyond its flickering I can see what was on the screen. Her contact list had been opened, and it is the number for S.H.I.E.L.D'S emergency response force. _She knew she was in danger, she knew she needed help._ As bad as that is however it's actually a bit of good news. If she was trying to call for help then it is just another confirmation that she is not missing willingly, that whoever she is with is a captor not a comrade.

However it doesn't change the fact that she is indeed missing, or the suspicion of with whom, which if that is confirmed, well it won't really matter if she was taken by force or not. Moving into the kitchen area of the large multipurpose room I find more evidence of an assault having taken place. And visible proof of by whom it was. Laying near a decent sized puddle of blood is a discarded combat knife. It is one of the standard issue knives that our disposal forces it equipped with and it still has pieces of flesh in its teeth.

_Barton. Shit._ Barton took her. It was a suspicion, but I was really truly hoping it wouldn't become more than that. If Barton has her that means the terrorist has her as well. _The worst case scenario just became the actual one._

Grimacing in frustration I look around the area once more, noting a spilled soup of some variety and a pot that most likely held it once lying innocently on the floor. It is interesting, but less important than the blood, so I focus on that. Leaving the kitchen I head back into the living room area. There are bloody footprints leading further into the house. One is in a dragging pattern consistent with an injury to the leg, most likely from the knife.

She appears to have stopped at the toppled contents of the bookshelf, the blood stains heavier here for some reason. Perhaps Barton threw her into it during the fight. But she seems to have continued on further into the house beyond this spot. The dragging line of blood not finished yet. My exploration though is cut short as the other agents meet me in the hall, having cleared their own areas and analyzed the situation for the initial report.

"Report." I demand out of principle and not necessity. The situation is just developing into a frustrating one, and it's a trend I'm sure is about to continue.

"Sir. The path continues into the bedroom. The door there was also blown in and there is evidence that she barricaded it with a chair. There is also evidence of a brief gunfight. We found two bullet holes and casings, but it does not appear that the shots connected with their target. The confrontation seems to have ended in that room due to the lack of her footprints leaving the scene." The more senior of the agents lists the details off professionally, making me frown but nod as I take in the information.

If she didn't walk out of that room then she was carried out. I really was hoping to find her in a closet or a cupboard somewhere. "Alright, we need to get a cle..." My orders are cut off by a sound that sounds like it belongs in the bowels of hell's deepest circle.

"What..." I look over at the agent with a raised eyebrow. "...was that?!" My apprehensive curiosity is made even greater when the agent in front of me clears his throat in a sheepish manner before answering me.

"That would be the kitten sir." My eyebrow arches even more.

"That..." I am interrupted again by another blood curdling screech. "...is a kitten?!" _Good lord, this is why I hate animals._

"Yes sir, Miss Elaine's kitten. We discovered it in our search of the bedroom." He says still in a very professional manner, as if listing these facts is evidence as well. "It is highly likely that she shut it in the closet to protect it. It seems that it was injured in the assault, perhaps in defense of its owner."

Another screeched yowl fills the silence, this time accompanied by a very human sounding"AHH! Ow! Ow! Ow!" from the agent in the room.

Rolling my eyes in distaste I once again remind myself that this is why I do not like animals. They are so stupid. Maneuvering around the other agent in the hall I make my way toward the bedroom. We do not have time for this. Striding into the room I carefully step over the remains of yet another obliterated door to the sight of agent Reynolds crouched down, wrapping his hand in a handkerchief to keep his blood from contaminating the scene. Before I can ask he offers up an explanation, seeing me eyeballing his hand in intense distaste.

"I underestimated its reflexes sir, it bit me. But it isn't serious." I just roll my eyes at that.

"Well I certainly hope not." I throw back, sarcasm dripping off every word. "Put the animal out of its misery and get back to work." I tell him, in a manner that conveys I expect that to be the end of the discussion. But apparently I was wrong.

"Sir, we can't do that." Comes Agent Michael's voice, crisp and clear and full of seriousness as well much to my confusion. My expression seems enough to count as a question because he continues right along. "That is the kitten was a gift from Mr. Rogers."

_Well... That's a good reason not to kill it._ I think, sincerely happy that my order hadn't been carried out for once. _Coulson would have murdered me for that for sure._

"Right...okay then." I mumble as I begin looking around. That cat is almost feral at the moment and isn't going to let us do this the easy way and just pick it up, though Reynolds gets credit for being courageous and making the attempt. My search of the room ends at the footboard of her bed, and the thick plush bath towel still draped casually over it. _Perfect. _That's just what we need. Quickly snatching up the towel I drape it over my arm for a moment as I dig out the next item I need for my plan.

"Sir, is that..." Tipping the container I soak a small circle of the towel with its contents."...chloroform?!"

Recapping the small thin flask I shove it back in my breast pocket before looking back at him sternly. "Yes, Michael. It is."

The rest of the sentence is implied by my tone. _Do not ask me why I am carrying chloroform in my pocket._ He, being the intelligent person that he is, picks up on that part and raises his palms a little in acceptance. But then when I toss him the towel, he looks a bit confused and annoyed.

"I am not touching that thing. It is a demon." I mean every word of that too, cute creatures are only nature's way of reducing the population. Sure they are nice and fuzzy, until they eat your face off. "It should be enough to knock it out." I say as an implied order, then motion for Reynolds to get out-of-the-way before that cat tears more pieces out of him.

He silently protests for a moment longer, then let his mouth pull into a grim but resigned line. I don't pity him for a second. It's his own fault, insisting we bring the cat in alive. He made that call so he can carry it out too. I watch, debating the necessity of requesting an ambulance to the scene as well as he moves closer to the feline. He has the towel held out in front of him like a shield, and is muttering reassuring phrases like 'Shh now' and 'It's alright kitty, we're just here to help' like the cat actually cares or gives a damn. It just continues to snap and hiss, striking out defensively as he moves closer.

Then he tosses the towel over it. It struggles far more violently than I imagined an animal with a broken leg could, and proceeds to break the sound barrier in the process. _I wonder what the men outside think of this noise?_ They have to be able to hear it. Its furious resistance though dims quickly, far quicker I'm sure than it would like. But the persuading power of a chemically induced slumber can't be argued with.

Once the risk of being shredded to ribbons passes Michael loosens the towel to re-wrap the small but vicious mammal in a more comfortable and secure manner for when it wakes up._Which better not happen in the car._ Now with that mini adventure done it is back to the main issue at hand. What to do with this situation.

"Alright, we need this house swept and cleaned top to bottom, Reynolds you're in charge of that." He nods, and without any further explanation necessary begins making the phone calls needed to get a crew out here. "Michaels, see if you can find something to put that thing in, then go collect what information the agents outside have, and begin making the preliminary report."

He nods and gets to work, leaving me standing in the room. For a moment I just stand there, mentally hating that I'm the most senior agent on the scene and this task falls to me. Then I pull out my phone and dial Agent Coulson.

* * *

Feeling the phone vibrate to life even before it makes an actual sound, I am already raising my hand, my finger pressing against the ear piece. "Name and objective." I drone out on autopilot. For the past hour I have been receiving and giving a never-ending stream of phone calls, working through the intricacy of a level 7.

"Agent Ferguson. Collecting code-name Nora." At that name my divided attention coalesces back into a singular focus.

"What is her condition?" I ask into the phone, waving off the agent in front of me to get on with the task I gave them.

"Missing sir." Comes the voice across the line after a brief but pregnant pause, it is followed by one of my own. One that took so long it prompted the man on the other end to check if I was still on the line.

"She is... Missing?!" I ask in a clipped manner, already going through what that means in my head. _For starters the priority just became higher._

"Y-Yes sir..." Even through the phone I could make out the muted gulp before he continues."...the preliminary report is still underway. It seems we were correct about agent Barton collecting her. But we found nothing to suggest he did so in a friendly manner."

I take all this in quickly but with care as I note a piece missing from this discussion. "And what about Jareth?" I ask, and only after realizing it's a strong possibility the agent on the line is not aware of the cat's name. A possibility that he is quick to confirm with a "Sir?" before he can continue the question I cut back in with a bit of frustration in my tone. "The kitten agent Ferguson, did you find a kitten at the scene." _Please say you at least found the kitten._

"U-uh yes sir..." He says a bit flustered, no doubt hearing my frustration and assuming it is at him, an assumption I'm not going to correct."...we found the cat, it appears to have been involved in the confrontation and sustained injury is a result. We have sedated it at the moment, but are unsure how to proceed."

I let out an almost disappointed sigh. "You will proceed, Agent Ferguson, to see that the cat gets the best medical care money can provide. That animal is government property, understood?"

His response is quick and sharp and eager to avoid annoying me further. "Sir, of course sir."

Then with that done I am off the phone, but only momentarily.

_Now what do I do..._ There are two options before me. The one I want to do, and the one I am obligated to do. Obligation wins over my personal wish. "I'm sorry Captain." I mutter as I dial the director's private line.

It barely rings once before his voice invades my ear. "Talk to me." He demands, quick and to the point because of the situation.

I have no doubt he is making and taking as many calls as I am because of this situation, and I have the great fortune of making it worse. "Sir..." I pause, really not wanting to deliver this news and be responsible for the decision that develops because of it. "... Code-name Nora is no longer in our possession."

_Forgive me sir._ I think even as I say those betraying words, my thoughts about a different man I respect more than the one on the line.

It is silent for a moment, and in that span I can hear the director take a deep disappointed breath. "...Well that's a problem..."

I nod even though I know he can't see it. "Yes sir. I will begin the search for her right away..." Even as I say this I am pulling up a program on my phone, and being predictably disappointed by it. "...but it seems agent Barton has removed her tracker as well as his and Dr. Selvig's."

It becomes silent at the other end for a moment, but I wait, knowing my message was heard loud and clear. "Then we don't have a choice. The use of lethal force is now authorized in her capture. If Loki has her we have to assume she's compromised, and she is too dangerous to let him keep. I want that woman back in our possession, dead or alive."

I can see the logic in that decision but it doesn't stop me from offering up a "But sir she hasn't r..."

It is cut into abruptly though, dying before it can become a complete thought. "That was an order agent Coulson."

My response is reluctant, and given with guilt "Yes sir. I will see that it is done." I expected that to be the end of it now that the orders have been given but Nick spares a moment longer.

"Oh and Coulson." Hearing the tone of that statement I cringe just a little, already knowing I am not going to like this part.

"Yes sir?"

I was right. "Don't tell the Captain."

* * *

Is always read and review please.


	4. Day 2: part 1

Hey. It's me, I'm back. Anyways, sorry about the long wait. I would have had this out sooner if my life hadn't started doing back flips on me and my friend who edited it for me hadn't quit. So if it seems different somehow I apologize. But I'm here now so it's all good.

I own nothing. So please don't sue. I really don't have anything you want, honest Marvel, not a thing. Lol

Well here is chapter 4. Enjoy.

* * *

_No...please..._ I cry in silent despair within my mind as my eyes take in the ceiling of a room, one I had been desperate to consign to nothing more than a nightmarish creation. _I need to get out of here._ That takes priority and dominates all other thoughts before they can even form.

Moving quickly it isn't till my feet hit the floor that I remember my injuries, and gasp in pain. But then I gasp again in surprise instead. _It...didn't hurt...? _I was broken and carved apart, but I felt no pain from my movement. Looking at my wrist, which I remember being shattered and bruised so badly it almost looked black I find smooth pale skin without a scratch or mark on it, and no pain what so ever singing across its nerves. "What in the..." _This can't be real..._

Looking down I find another surprise as I go to study my leg next. These are not my clothes. I'm in a green dress, which feels like it's made of silk. Its sleeves are long and stretched taut around my arms, stopping just before my wrists, well its neck is a straight line shoulder to shoulder and its length touches the floor. I can feel my heart picking up its pace as I realize that I did not put myself in these clothes, someone else did, and they had to touch me to do it. "This isn't happening."

"Oh, but it is." I jump with a small yelp at the voice, turning to find the source. "I can assure you of that little one." It's the man from before.

He is sitting in the chair I passed out on. It's now lacking any evidence of my forced captivity to it. But I don't have time to dwell on that. I really have much more pressing things demanding my attention. Like the really big and obvious one, how I find myself once again trapped in a room with a nightmare. A nightmare who is moving.

I watch with apprehension as he rises from his seat and sets the object that was in his lap on the table. That apprehension turns to honest fear when I look it over quickly, and notice something. The stone in it is glowing, and the shade is a lot like the light in Clint's eyes.

Pulling my eyes from it, they fly back to his, and the grin on his face does nothing to ease my worries.

"Ah, you've made the connection so quickly, how impressive." He speaks with a joyous grin. It reminds me of one a proud parent wears when giving praise to a child.

He turns a bit to the side and motions to it "It is indeed what controls your companions."He then turns back to me letting his hand fall. "The scepter is a useful tool indeed. Wouldn't you agree?" His grin reminds me of a cat, and it is terrifying as Deaths.

"Oh, please no..." I whisper out, my tone full of nothing but fright at the thought. _I don't want that..._ I can see the distance between us grow, but it is only when I feel my back hit the wall and yelp yet again in surprise that I realize my feet have been moving.

"Oh, hush now child" He says, his tone once again reassuring. "I have no reason to use the scepter on you. It would be a wasted effort." He explains it like it should be obvious to me already but all those words do is confuse me.

So much so that I speak before I can think about it. "Why?"

That seems to surprise him a bit, as well as amuse him. "Why? You want to know 'why'?"He repeats my question as if perhaps he heard me wrong.

I hadn't meant to ask, and I certainly didn't want to risk him changing his mind. But now that the question is out, I truly am curious. Glancing back up at him nervously from my position against the wall I nod meekly.

He once again smiles that eerie amused smile. "It would not work against you little one, you are far too strong for its influence."

_Well that's a good thing but..._ It's not a true thing. Or at least I don't think it is. _I'm too strong for it?!_ That can't be true. I mean, it is controlling Clint, and there is no question he is stronger than me. Part of me wants to say that, but the bigger part is demanding I shut up. If he thinks that thing won't be able to control me, I would be a fool to give him something to change his mind. So instead I just offer up a quiet and noncommittal "Oh..., I see..."

With the immediate threat gone my mind turns back to the next monumental issue on my list."H-How long wa-was I as-asle-ep?" I don't want the answer, but at the same time I need to know.

_For even the bones to have healed it may have been months, what was in that syringe?!_

He merely shrugs slightly as he turns back toward the table in the room, idly setting aside the ornate lid from a serving tray I had not noticed there before somehow. In fact, I'm almost sure it was not there before.

"Not much longer than a span of hours," Is his response as he turns back to me with an apple in his hand.

But my attention only stays on what he holds for a moment, long enough to deem it not a threat. I'm far more focused on his words, and the impossibility of them. "A-A few h-hours?!"

He smiles a little, nodding as he does. "Yes, I admit I was dismayed as well." It's spoken with what almost sounds like a note of concern. "I misjudged how diminished your health had become." Then his mood seems to shift again, perking up. "But that is not a hardship to remedy." He adds with a pleasant smile and a twinkle in his eyes.

"But..." _A span of hours?!_ I can't get that to process in my head. I look back over myself in disbelief. There's no way I could have healed this much in only a few hours."...It's not possible." I mumble out softly, my voice filled with nervous doubt.

"What is not possible little one?" He asks, his head cocked slightly to the side in a curious manner, that slightly amused smirk that seems to be his favorite expression still worn by his lips.

Remembering how well my questions served me before I can't help but shrink into myself a bit out of nervous apprehension. I even consider not asking, but now that I have his attention that may not be a wise idea either.

Gulping a little I glance at him nervously before looking away from his eyes and focusing on the apple instead. "I-It coul-ldn-nt have j-just been a-a few ho-ours." Is what I stammer out, not at all concerned with how pathetic I must sound. "I-I'm a-all he-heal-ed." I add, giving him my actual reason to doubt his honesty.

"Ah." Is his response, spoken with a brief chuckle. "Of course." He finishes, his amused smiling expression landing back on me as he only now takes a step toward me.

My instinctive step back is impeded by the reminder that the wall hasn't moved from behind me.

"Your observation is a sound one indeed." He says in way of a compliment before he continues. "Migardian medicine would have taken much time to see you restored."

He pauses in his speech with a smirk as he takes the time to look me over, making my skin crawl slightly. "It was far kinder to use Asgardian medicine and see you healed quickly, than subject you to this realm's barbarous practice any longer."

I'm not sure what to make of that, the situation too drastic a change for me to quite accept yet.

But again Erik comes to mind, his recounting of the skirmish in New Mexico coming to mind. His awed tone as he spoke of glass and his chest and the healing properties of dust from a crushed stone.

It all sounds like fiction, but at this point, it is his tales and myths that offer me any clues on what I can expect. _Oh how I wish I committed them to memory now._

Loki's bipolar nature seems to extend to this discussion as well, or perhaps he did not expect or care if I responded, instead he has just begun a new one. "But healing you will serve little purpose if your body remains undernourished as it is." Are the words that leave him as he steps closer with a purpose now.

"You must be famished." He tells me in a pleasant way, as the apple that until now was just casually occupying his hand is now held out in offering to me.

I swallow, my eyes fixed on the shiny and blemish free skin of the fruit in distrust, almost as if I take my eyes from it I will invite disaster somehow. It is a foolish notion, but given my circumstances perhaps a reasonable one. Several tales revolving around apples are running through my head at the moment. The two vying for first place are the tale of Snow White, and the fruit of knowledge of the Garden of Eden.

I must have hesitated to long because his voice fills the silence, tinted with displeasure. "You refuse my generosity?"

My eyes leave the apple for his face, faster than a whip cracking. "No! No." I say quickly, wanting in no way to make this man angry. My hands are also up in a placating manner."That's not it..."

He doesn't voice the desire for elaboration, but I can see it in his expression none the less.

"I-I..." _Oh god this is not going to end well. _"I-I, if, if I, its drugged..." I stammer out not much more than a whisper.

For a moment he says or does nothing then lets his head droop, a grin dominating his features as he starts to shake with soft laughter the sound following soon after. "Oh my little one..."There is a pause as he catches his breath a little looking at me.

"Such strange legends this realm has of this fruit. I had forgotten." Those words are directed more at the apple itself than me, which I'm rather okay with. Being under his gaze all the time is nerve-wracking. "The fruit that condemned mankind to sin, and committed a maiden to slumber." He lists off the oh so brief descriptions before looking back at me.

"I assure you my lady, that this particular apple has only the most innocent of intentions." He tells me with a very amused smirk, one that without question inspires no confidence in his word.

My continued hesitation is once again annoying him, a reaction I don't want to evoke but seem unable to do anything to avoid. "And yet she still doubts." He says as if speaking about me instead of to me.

Before I can say anything in my defense he continues on, a soft frustrated sigh leaving him before being followed by more words. "But I suppose it should be expected of a woman with your unique circumstances."

I very much do not like the way he said that, it hints that he possesses more knowledge about me. I would be much happier if he didn't know anything. "It was presumptuous of me to expect your trust." Again that mocking apologetic grin dominates his features.

The words I might have spoken fail me in place of a frightened whimpering sound. The response prompted as he produces a small dagger from beneath his gauntlet. His motion stops for a moment at the sound, his eyes drifting back to mine in an amused manner, clearly finding a sick sort of humor in my fear. But the dagger is not out with a malicious purpose I soon realize. Instead, he merely uses the blade to carve into the apple, cutting it in half.

I watch still nervously as he tucks the dagger back in its place. The location is committed to memory, even as the weary speculation begins on where else he might have more weaponry hidden away.

Taking one of the halves in a separate hand he brings it up to his mouth and takes a bite out of it. Chewing and swallowing the piece of fruit so as to quell my suspicions of it. It does not convince me. I doubt anything he does could convince me.

But as he holds out the other half with a soft smug grin I relent anyways. I do not want to, but I want even less to anger him.

Reaching out my hand I try not to tremble, but fail as I knew I would. He merely watches my effort bemused as I tentatively reach then pull back like he may attack me, before finally committing and snatching the apple half from his hand. The action drawing a chuckle from him as I back away, the fruit clutched in my hand defensively.

For my comfort I'm sure more than anything he returns to the seat in the room. Sitting back down in a comfortable lean, one hand resting casually on his leg while the other holds the apple as he finishes it in a relaxed manner, all the while watching me.

I am still very weary of the fruit, but now that it's in my hands, and its scent in my nose I can't deny I am quite hungry. By my guess it has been at least a day since I was taken, and my last meal would have been a small lunch before leaving work. My stomach wins out over my caution, the idea of a slow starvation less appealing to me in the long run.

Wetting my lips in one last nervous gesture I bring the fruit up to my mouth and sink my teeth into it only to almost drop it immediately after in surprise.

His amused chuckle draws my attention quickly. His expression almost glowing in mirth,"The taste is to your liking I see?" He says with a soft chuckle, and he is right.

I'm not sure if it is because I am so hungry. But I've never tasted fruit as sweet or tart as this. It sounds rather silly even in my thoughts, but this apple is perfect. The epitome of what an apple should be. Again he continues, apparently not in need of any answer I might give him.

"The apples of Idunn. Exquisite and rare." He says, giving a name to the fruit, but one that means little to me aside from a small nagging that I cannot place. "But abundant in my possession. You shall enjoy them often."

Unsure of what to say to that I opt for the least wrath inspiring response, which is a polite "Thank you." Spoken softly as I try to ignore the beginnings of a dull twinge in my head.

His response is merely a polite nod, accompanied by a gesture encouraging me to finish, something that now with the flavor of food in my mouth my body has no qualms of doing. By his soft chuckle as I finish the last bite I was even perhaps a bit over eager in my efforts.

"You devoured that like a creature starved..." His expression is hard to place, somewhere between annoyance and amusement, and I'm not sure whom it is directed at."...They truly have kept you under fed."

_...Fix everything S.H.I.E.L.D did to you..._ It is Erik's voice that rings back in my head. The memory of what he said. Even now it doesn't make sense.

_They've kept me underfed?_ But that's not true. I have always had plenty to eat. If anything I've been accused to over eating. I eat well and in large amounts whether it be meals or snacks. But to many's displeasure I never gain weight, my metabolism is, in the words of my doctor 'fit as an Olympic medalist', a trait that has earned the wrath of many my female coworkers. _Or it did..._

The depressing reality sinks in a little further with that thought. I might never see them again. I might never see anything again. I might die here, and I still don't know why. But I'm not asking, not that question. The answer is almost sure to be one I don't want.

When his voice breaks the silence again I'm almost glad for it, welcoming the distraction. "I will provide you with food of greater substance."

Humility has proved a safe route so far so I continue with it. Giving him another "Thank you"and earning yet another one of his small smiles for it.

"You are most welcome little one." He tells me using that far too affectionate term once more, but my attention is pulled more to the twinkle in his eyes. "After all, you will need your strength."

There's an implied ending to that sentence, one that makes my breath hitch a little. _For what? _I knew there had to be a reason. I'm not dense. There's always a reason. But I can't figure it out. I mean, yes I'm friends with both Clint and Erik, but it makes no sense on that alone.

"Please..." I whimper softly, my voice shaking a little. "...You don't need me..." Again he grins, amused by my pleading. "...I'm just...I deliver the mail, and coffee... I'm nobody..." He 'tch's softly, his grin spreading even as his eyes look sympathetic. "...You have Clint, and Erik...they know more than me, I swear...I'm not even an agent..." I ramble out, mildly amazed at how steady and without stutter those words rolled off my lips, though I don't have the time to congratulate myself on that.

"You are nobody?" He speaks out softly as if tasting the words before his eyes meet mine, the twinkle of withheld intentions in them. "Is that truly what you believe Arnora?" _That name again._

Letting out a silent sob I turn my head away from his gaze, closing my eyes and shaking my head softly. An action he seems to take as me refuting his question. "Ah, so you do not believe your own words then."

"No I..." I pause, swallowing a little when the tension reappears in his eyes. "...I... That is-isn't my n-name."

His irritation has vanished from his face now, becoming amusement again. "Oh, is it not?" The way he said that is full of amused disbelief. As if I was a child calling the sky purple, but he is too 'kind' to correct me. Despite the risk of disagreeing with this man I let the word "No" leave my lips again.

"I-I'm Nora. Just Nora." I explain, half entertaining a false hope that maybe there was a mistake. That he really wants someone else with a name similar to my own. "Nora E-Eliane."

"Nora Elaine?"

He repeats my name in a questioning manner. I nod a bit enthusiastically, still hopeful even though I know better.

"A woman of honor conceived by the sun..." His voice is softer as he puzzles out the meaning of my name, his knuckle against his chin. Then his eyes drift back to mine, the rest of his face following after. "S.H.I.E.L.D has named you well. It is a fitting moniker indeed."

Even having anticipated it, the words still sting. The hope, no matter how slight, ripped from me and throwing me back down. I let out a short whimper, not bothering with the effort to keep it in. "I'm not her, w-whoe-ever you want I-I'm n-not her..." I whisper, shaking my head, yet knowing the futility of it all.

"Oh...but you are..." The voice rings out, making my head shoot up in surprise, his voice, much closer now than it was before.

The wall once again reminds me that it doesn't move as my feet back track the few steps to it, my spine colliding with it far too quickly. The inertia tries to send me back forward with a small stumble, but I resist it. His body was already too close and moving closer.

_Too close! Too close!_ I can feel my heart beat picking up, gaining intensity with each step he takes, almost strong enough I can feel it add to the force of my shivering. My hands are out in front of me as well, pointless though their position may be. The intention is to keep space between us, but they merely retreat farther backward with each step he takes.

"S-St-top... pl-lea-ase..." Any steadiness my voice had is now completely gone.

I try to jerk away, sliding out to the side but as I should have expected my action is not treated kindly. It is met with the echoing force of his hand hitting the wall, his arm cutting me off.

"Ah!" My yelp of fear almost immediately becomes one of pain as well when his other hand weaves its way viciously into my hair, arching my neck to him.

Now it's just fear motivating me, fear and desperation. My hands no longer avoid the feel of his clothes as they did, not with the feel of his hand against my scalp. One takes a place against his chest trying to shove him away. An effort that quickly proves vain though I continue to try. The other hand is up above my head, trying to free my hair from his hold. It is an effort that truthfully only makes my panic grow, as my skin must touch his to do so. It is because of this that I do not register his hissed command for me to stop.

It is a mistake I pay for. Jerking my head back even further my pained scream fills the room at the same time his angry voice does. "I SAID BE STILL!"

This time the command is obeyed, but not so much because of his words. It is because now just beyond the range of touching my skin is his face, held in a hover over the flesh of my throat.

As horrible as the feel of his hand in my hair is, that I can endure. I can delude myself somehow that the strands of my hair are a barrier, a layer between my skin and his. I have no such illusions available with my throat.

My body still quakes violently, the muscles shuddering beyond my control. My heart is still racing, and my chest too is still heaving. These are things I cannot control. But I can control, though with great difficulty, the motions of my arms. Where they would much rather resume trying to free myself from this man, possibly in a violent and painful manner, they are now reluctantly occupying positions at my hips. Even fisted in the fabric there they are still fidgeting anxiously.

"Ah..." The tone is just as condescending as his smile. "...Is not this better?"

I don't offer a reply, and he thankfully doesn't demand one. I'm not sure I could give one with any sense of pride anyway. I'm shaking so hard each syllable would be a word of its own, caused by his unusually cool breath puffing against my skin, leaving goose bumps in its wake.

It is a great relief when his face pulls back from my skin so he can see my discomfort first hand. Though realistically it is probably only temporary I am glad of it, the reprieve slight, but one I am silently begging to continue.

"It is not your name that gives you away..." He reiterates words he spoke not but minutes ago. "...but your face." Those words make me shiver all the more. Even more so as his hand loosens from my hair, and move toward said face.

Before I can even bring my hand fully up to shove him away he intercepts it. The hand he has against the wall wrapping tightly around my wrist. Even with a layer of fabric between us my skin still flares at the touch, though less intense than it would otherwise.

"Ah, no!" My other hand attempts the same and is met with the same result.

The panic made my reactions foolish. Not that I knew any better. I wasn't trained for this, not trained for anything really. I never needed to be after all.

I am...was... The girl who did the little jobs, the really little jobs. I made coffee, I delivered mail. I tracked down things people needed. I didn't mind those jobs, I liked them even. They were easy, and someone had to do them.

But now all I wish is that I was trained, that I wanted to be more because if I had I wouldn't be here. I wouldn't be pinned to a wall by a dangerous and mentally unstable man. I wouldn't be shaking so hard I can barely stand. I wouldn't be on the edge of tears. _I wouldn't be here._

"P-Pl-eas-se l-let me g-go..." His expression shifts again into one of sympathy and refusal. "I can not do that little one," The voice becoming soft and soothing again with those words.

But as his hand comes up it negates any effect it might have had. I whimper, trying to turn my head away, almost expecting him to hit me for it. However he merely runs his hand over my hair again like I'm a pet in need of comfort. I almost wish he'd struck me instead. "For you I have much planned. You will understand soon, it is an honor I will give you."

Those are not words of comfort. "N-No..." I sob out, the tears pooling in my eyes. _I don't want this 'honor' I want to go home. I want to wake up. I want anything but this._

But he neither notices nor cares it seems. However it does seem he has had enough of my suffering at least for the moment. His steps take him backwards away from me. Even to the point where his hands release my wrists. The second they are free I bring them up across my chest, almost like a shield.

This reaction makes him smirk softly before his gaze returns to the scepter he set down earlier. It draws my attention too just because I'm aware of its capabilities, at least one of them.

He picks it up by the base, flipping it in a casual manner and catching it below the blades as if completely unconcerned by them. Which is likely true if he is familiar with the weapon at all and why wouldn't he be?

As he turns back to me though, approaching with it in his hand I feel my chest tighten back up with fear. But his steps are not to me. They are toward the door leading out of the room. _He is leaving me alone? Finally,..._

There is the realization that he will likely return and that if he does not I will likely starve and die. I'm not deluded enough to think the door will be unlocked after all. But all the same, the idea of solitude is a tremendous comfort.

I watch intently though still. Until the second he leaves this room I have no intention of looking away from him, even if it's just his feet, I am much more comfortable with those in my sight. It proves a good idea, as when he reaches the door and has the handle almost within his grasp he pauses, my sense of comfort plummeting and wavering because of it.

_Please leave, please just leave. Oh please..._ It drops a bit more even as he turns back around to look at me over his shoulder. The arms shielding me pulling a bit tighter because of it, and like everything I do it elicits a grin.

"A meal will be provided you in a few hours. I suggest you eat it." I don't need to be told the 'suggest' part is only a polite formality hiding an order. "It would also do you well to rest. You have much to recover, and to cure..."

If he said more I did not hear it. _..._ I heard nothing in fact. _... _No footsteps, or the sound of the door closing, or the lock that must have clicked into place. _..._

The world had dropped, and it didn't have the decency to take me with it. _... _There was no sound in my ears. _... _No taste on my tongue nor scent in the air. _... _No sensation on my skin._... _The only thing the world did was get taller suddenly.

My knees buckling and landing me on the hard ground, but I neither felt it nor heard the sound. _No..._ When my hands appeared in front of me, palms against the concrete they also did not feel it. _No..._ A drop, a single separated amount of water landed on my hand. _No..._ It lingered there alone in solitude between the tendons before finding its way to the floor and darkening it. It did not stay alone for long.

_Please no..._

* * *

Well that was chapter 4. What did you think? Good? Bad? OH MY GOD? Lol

Please let me know with a review.

Also, a question for all my readers. What do you want to see happen? Or who do you want to see?

Now I may not use every idea since I have a way I want this story to go, but if I like yours it may appear in one of these chapters, you never know.


	5. Day 2: part 2

Okay. I figured I should get this out there before I continue. I am taking some liberty's with the time line. I'm stretching it out in places to make my story flow in a more realistic manner. That means that while I am aware the Avengers movie only takes place over a couple of day's I am going to extend it over roughly about a week to a few weeks worth of time. I will make this apparent in the story is I write it out.

I hope this will clear things up, and not make it so confusing.

Now on to chapter five, and as usual I own nothing. With the exception of Nora, and Jareth.

* * *

My alarm is going off again, just like it always does every morning. A very out of the ordinary alarm, but very effective in its technique.

I can feel whiskers tickling at my face, making me both want to giggle and sneeze as they brush against my nose.

Jareth is once again trying to wake me, his black hole of a stomach demanding fresher food, while I once again pretend to be still asleep and reveling in his adorableness.

Venturing just the barest peek past my eyelashes I only have them open long enough to close them again. The damage has been done however, his sharp little gaze catching the glimpse.

His determination to get me out of bed only triples after that slip up. The slight weight of him on my shoulder preceding an uncontrollable bout of giggles as his tiny wet nose and rough tongue lay siege to my ear.

"Ah, okay, okay, I'm up, I'm up..." I chuckle out as my movement sends him toppling into the rumpled sheets around my waist.

For a few moments he is stuck on his back, but twisting his body around he quickly gets his feet back under him. Then two of those feet find a spot against my chest as he looks up at me with his best 'don't you love me mommy?' expression, and a plaintive drawn out "Mwoaw"

It just melts my heart to pieces, quicker than candle wax in a fire.

"Ohhh you..." I coo at my baby, scooping him up and getting a surprised protest from him as I force an Eskimo kiss on him. Pulling back a little I can't help but laugh. He is just hanging there limply with the cutest kitten pout ever.

"...You poor, poor neglected little creature." I tease him even more while I put my feet against the rug resting in a large circle over the hardwood floor and stand up.

Setting him on my shoulder his method for attention transforms quickly from pitiful mews to rubbing his head against my hair and purring.

Smirking I tickle him under the chin briefly, his purring becoming even louder in my ear as he pushes his head against my hand meeting me in the effort. Even when I pull my hand away he doesn't seem bothered, just resuming his earlier action of rubbing his head against mine.

Padding barefoot across the floor it isn't long before my feet feel the hard oak floor instead of the woven rug that sits under my bed, my skin taking in and enjoying the change in texture.

Texture has always been a fascinating thing to me, there are some many in the world, seemingly an endless amount. Like the cool metal of the doorknob, different yet so similar to the wood under my feet. Both are hard and cool but so very different at the same time.

Heading down stairs I let my fingers drum an absent rhythm on the hand rail, well my eyes are more focused on the sight out the window.

The sun is out, but it hasn't quite cleared the trees yet. The way the streaks of warm sunshine are contrasted by the cool shadows of the trees is a lovely enough sight to wake up to, and one I'm blessed to see often.

I can tell already it is going to be a wonderful day.

Even before I reach the bottom of the stair my nose picks up the aroma, and takes deep appreciative inhale. "Hmm, coffee..." I practically sigh out the words, ending with an embarrassed chuckle. It's a weakness of mine, a strong cup of the miracle bean in the morning. The kind you can stand a spoon in. I don't feel alive without it.

He must have put it on for me. He always is so thoughtful like that. However it only takes me a quick glance around the cabin to notice he isn't here at the moment. _Must have already gone out for his morning run._

Not that his absence is unusual in any way. He always lets me sleep in. He is too much of a gentleman to ever disturb my rest.

It's his way of showing how much he appreciates me. Just like the breakfast I will make for him when he returns is mine.

But first I need my coffee, and my impatient passenger needs his morning cream.

Reaching the kitchen my would be parrot wastes no time getting off my shoulder, and with just as much haste hurries over to his little bowl on the counter.

His little face complete with his twitching nose quickly examines it before confirming it is in fact empty, then decides I need to be reminded. I just chuckle, watching him pace anxious circles on the counter top. Offering him a scratch behind the ears briefly I then set to putting us both out of our misery.

Bending over a little I open the disguised mini fridge and remove the carton of cream that was within.

It is an action that turns up the volume as well. Jareth, yet again, sets to prove that his appetite as well as his voice knows no limit.

Reaching for his bowl I am almost met with resistance once he realizes what I'm doing, his little paws trying to catch hold of it as if he could pull it back. It just makes me chuckle more "Oh you silly thing. Can't give you your treat without this, you know that."

_Not that he really cares._ He would like it just as much dumped on the counter as he does in the bowl.

Not wanting to be a cruel owner any longer than I already have been I take care of him first, and of course it wouldn't be a normal morning if while I'm setting it down he didn't try to make me spill it in his haste to devour.

"Just the cutest little black hole ever, yes you are." I tease with a chuckle while rubbing my fingers over his spine, his tiny growls coming out muffled as he laps up the thick liquid.

Now that he has been taken care of I tend to myself.

But as my hand wraps around the carton I don't miss the cute moment where his little cream covered face looks up briefly, eyeballing what he knows holds deliciousness. For a brief instance he is undecided, but makes up his mind to finish what's in the bowl first. His little wet muzzle returns to the contents of the bowl and the little growls now replaced by muted purrs.

Pulling my favorite coffee mug off its hook it doesn't take me long to prepare it just how I like it. Twin scoops of sugar to take away the bitterness and just enough cream to take away the scalding heat.

I like to taste my coffee, not feel it after all.

Rinsing off the spoon I let it stay in the sink for now, to be washed with the rest of the dishes from breakfast. I also put the cream back in the fridge, much to Jarjar's adorable displeasure.

While I claim my mug in both hands he takes to staring forlornly at the fridge door as if by force of will alone it will open and let him enter the land of milk and tuna. _Just like that commercial._

Well I ponder over the possibilities of my mini fridge being a dimensional gateway and what that might mean for my electric bill, I am also making my way over to the large scenic window of our living room.

It actually makes up the entire western wall of the room, and a rather spectacular view of the mountains. The mist hasn't quite given up its fight with the sun, still clinging to life beneath the pine trees blanketing the rocks. They make the landscape look smoother, almost like soft rolling waves.

Blowing on the coffee a little it stirs up a bit of its own mist. The steam swirling quickly before fading to nothing before I take a sip.

I can hear the door creak. The sound familiar and welcome as it alerts me of his return. I like it, enough that I refused to let him fix it. It gives character to the home as far as I'm concerned.

He didn't quite understand when I made that request, but it seems if I enjoy it then he doesn't need any other reason than that.

I grin as I hear Jareth's mewling pick up, trying his luck at getting a treat from him too. The grin grows a little more when I overhear him scold my kitten for not getting rid of the evidence first. Apparently he hadn't quite cleaned all the cream from his face yet.

There is a small span of time in which Jarjar's 'I am so hungry, please feed me' mewls continue, mixed with a shuffling sound as he most likely removes his shoes. That guess is confirmed quickly, by the sound of twin 'thonk's, his footwear taking its place on the mat by the door.

Another sound soon follows. This time the sound of footsteps as he crosses the living room and comes over to me.

He doesn't enter into my field of vision, instead is content to stay behind me and enjoy the view.

He does however wrap his sturdy arms around me, enveloping me in a casual embrace. One I don't mind at all. His skin feels warm where it rests against mine, still flushed and hot from his early morning exercise.

I can feel his heartbeat against my back and just resign to enjoy this simple moment, letting my eyes drift. Something he must have noticed because he chuckles a little, the vibration rising deep from within his chest.

_It is wonderful here._

It may have taken us a long time to get to this point, but it really is wonderful. So much so I wouldn't change a thing. Not a thing.

I have a lovely home, this cabin in the mountains. It isn't a mansion by any means, it's just big enough for the two of us, but that's because I wanted it this way.

It has a garden, two actually. One for my herbs and flowers, and another for my vegetables.

I even have some fruit trees because he insisted on it. Even when I told him they wouldn't grow here because of the climate he wouldn't listen. He built a greenhouse instead and told me _"Now we'll make a climate for them."_

He is so patient with me too, he had always been.

He waited all the years it took me to lose my phobia. He was the first person I ever touched. The first skin I ever felt.

He is a wonderful man. My wonderful man. My wonderful husband. He gives me anything I want even when I don't ask for it, especially when I don't ask for it. I never have to ask for anything. He never demands anything from me either. Never a thing.

Except when he proposed to me.

That was the only time he told me _"No isn't an option."_ but he followed that quickly with a _"Please don't tell me no, because it has taken me years to muster this courage..."_

I didn't, I couldn't, and I'm glad. Because it's all been wonderful. Every day since that day it's been one wonderful day after another.

"One wonderful...day." My voice falters, almost choking on the sob that forces its way out.

Once again I open my eyes. Once again my eyes find themselves filled with the sight of this room. This room I hate so much.

There is no Jareth. There is now beautiful mountain view. There is no cabin, no garden. There is no husband either. No one to come and hold me and keep me safe. No one period.

I lost track of how long I'd been doing this, desperately trying to build a delusion to fall into, to lose myself in. Each and every one has ended like this.

Each one had betrayed me and left me here, in this reality I'm trying to convince myself isn't real.

I'd run out of things I could do. I tried everything I could think of already.

After the shock wore off and I finished crying out my frazzled nerves I came to the conclusion that unless my plan was to try to erode the floor with salt water I should at least try to do something to improve my situation.

This man, this Loki. He was kind enough to heal me and though this may not have been the reason he did so, I have every intention of taking advantage of it.

My first attempt was the door. Not that I had any reason to believe that would work, and I was right. But I had to try just in case. Jerking on the handle came first, but soon escalated along with my frustration. It turned into hitting and kicking the barrier and even yelling at the people I could hear on the other side.

It also ended just as quickly as a small slider window opened. It lets in yelling other than mine, along with the barrel of a pistol.

Needless to say I gave up on the door very quickly, and with excessive apologizing.

Not too long after that door opened, more than just the slider this time.

My first thought was that the man had come back. But it turned out to be someone else, delivering the meal he 'suggested' I eat.

The idea to try to run out of the room was extremely tempting, even more so when he didn't shut the door behind him when he came in. But the memory of the gun that threatened me not more than a half hour before was a strong deterrent. That and I knew Clint was out there somewhere.

_Clint._ Thinking about him just brought more tears to my eyes.

I held them until the man left. I'm not sure why I did really. It's not like I have any reason for pride in this place, but maybe that was my reason. Yet even those didn't last long. The tears were apparently all used up, at least for the time being.

With the door no longer an option I started looking for another way out. Or I should say, I tried to find one. There wasn't one to be found.

Maybe if I had training I might have found one, but I doubt that.

With only one door in or out of this room, and only a vent too small for me to fit in as well as too high to reach I never really had an option to begin with. Something that truthfully I knew even before I started. But I had to start. I had to do something, or I'd risk loosing my mind.

Which is what lead to the even less likely to succeed attempt to create a new reality.

In turn leading up to me slamming my hand pointlessly against the wall in frustration, and voicing my refusal of this situation. The actions I am taking right now.

"Come on Nora. Come on." I hiss out, the frustration of inevitable failure after failure trying to drive me into a hysterics, while I try just as hard not to let it. "You just need to think. You work for S.H.I.E.L.D..."

I stubbornly leave the part out where my job description is a lot like a secretary. "You just need to calm down and think..."

The mental and verbal pep talk dies quickly, having been running on steam anyways before the sound appeared. The sound in question ripping through it like a bullet.

It's odd how in my last little fantasy that the sound was one I considered pleasant. Now though the sound of stiff hinges only inspires dread. Perhaps as much if not more than the sound of footsteps entering the room.

There is a moment of relief, but it only lasts for half a second. The remaining half of that second is filled with me berating myself for being an idiot.

The person who enters the room is someone I am unfamiliar with. But the sight of military clothes threw me. Enough so that for a moment I thought maybe they were here to help me.

It was really just a conditioned response. Like the sight of a police car, something that is supposed to be associated with a sense of security.

Even when the uniformed person enters further into the room, enough so that I can identify it is a woman I find no reassurance in that either.

Whoever this woman is, she must be working for him. There's no other way she would have gotten in here otherwise.

I can hear people outside that door, and not for an instance did I hear anything that suggested a confrontation.

Even looking over her face and finding brown eyes with no hint of a glow does not change that conclusion, not with the grim, serious expression on her face.

My mood only grows more apprehensive as she doesn't do much more than step into the room, not even long enough to let the door shut. Then she merely turns around and leaves the room.

_That can't be good._ There is that distinctive sinking feeling in my gut, well maybe sinking is the wrong word. It's more like plummeting. _Really, really not good._

I'm also beginning to suspect I'll never think of doors in the same way after this either. The sound of those hinges assaulting my ears again. This time it's a face I recognize that appears. _I hate being right._

I can't even meet those eyes, not anymore. It's like the color is actually ice, it makes me shiver just to look at them.

I was never afraid of those eyes before, never before. When I first met him, there was a bit of nervousness to be sure, but never fear. Not true fear, not like this.

Even when I was just an assignment to him, even before I knew what he did for SHIELD. Even before we became..._friends._

_No, no stop it, don't think that._ The attack is playing back in my head, jumping around in segments and stuck on fast forward.

_That's not Clint, not my Clint. This isn't my Clint._ He said it himself. Loki, he admitted it, proudly even. My Clint is in there, but not at the same time.

That thought both encourages my hope and breaks my heart, because if this form in front of me really is Clint's body, then those are his eyes too. If those are his eyes than he can see. _Then he did see._ I hope on everything he didn't see, not that. It's too cruel a thought.

I can feel my eyes burning with eager tears brought on by that train of thought.

Even if I'm just grasping at straws and doubting my own theories, even if 'he' almost killed me I can't bear the thought of him suffering.

_I've always been too nice, too soft..._ he even laughed about it, teasing me how I was a glorified feather pillow. But he wasn't being mean about it and I only pretended to be offended. I couldn't even do that for long.

The Clint I know would never hurt me. The Clint I know hurt people for me. The Clint I know once put someone's face into a wall, with enough force to leave an imprint. He did that for me.

"You didn't change." _The Clint I knew..._ His voice wasn't like this.

This voice is all business, calm and cold and direct. It makes me want to shiver in much the same way as those eyes. A reaction I would probably allow if his words, a statement more than a question, did not confuse me so much.

_I didn't cha-ange?_ It's a sign that my nerves are really shot when even my thoughts are developing a stutter.

"I-I..." Anything that might have followed that stutter is cut short, my voice shrinking back into my throat as he moves.

My reaction once again inspired by fear. I back up, my arms tightening around me in an attempt to make myself smaller.

But I assumed he was coming toward me and I find that assumption wrong rather quickly. His target is the tray of food I never touched, or more correctly the package next to the tray of food.

I only now realize its existence. Though my eyes physically saw the bundle wrapped in brown paper before only now does my mind register it is something other than random scenery.

I was too preoccupied with other things earlier to really notice it apparently.

Now though, I'm hoping that wasn't a mistake. I'm also thinking I'm going to be wrong again.

My hands come up of their own accord, acting without conscious thought as the package is suddenly tossed in my direction. I fumble a bit, almost dropping it in the process before getting a secure grip on it.

The confusion as to why he threw the soft bundle at me is quickly cleared up, in a rather heart stopping manner. "Put that on."

_Put that on?! He wants me to... right now...with him in the..._ It's not the idea of changing my clothes in front of him that bothers me so much. It's the thought of all the skin it will expose in the process, all the skin it will leave unprotected.

I don't know who said it and I don't really care either, but the quote '_fear is a great motivator_' is running through my head. It is completely appropriate to my situation, and it does in fact motivate me now.

"B-But I-I I'm al-r-ready dr-ress-sed..." It motivates me to the wrong decision.

He is acting even before I finish that attempt, and so am I. My heart is racing, just like a frightened rabbit's. Actually everything about me is reacting that way.

But who could blame me. I'm trapped in a room with an assassin, who has already once showed me his lack of limitations.

Once again fear is an exceptional motivator. "Wait wait!" My hand is up, like it could actually do anything, and my words are out, spoken with too much haste to allow a stutter in. "Wait, please, I'll do it okay?! Just, please..."

Somehow, miraculously that actually worked. He stops, no longer approaching me with predatory intent.

It doesn't take long for me to realize however that the only thing that really stopped was his feet. The danger isn't gone, it's merely waiting. Waiting for me to do as I said I would, to strip out of my clothes.

I'm not sure if the idea of doing it myself can count as an improvement, or a torture.

_Don't get angry, don't get angry don't get..._ The mental plea continues silently as I venture what might be a stupid idea, as if somehow it will affect his will.

"C-Can I... I-I mea-an... can-n you..." It trails off for a moment, my throat too dry in nervousness to speak and forcing me to clear it. "...Ca-an I hav-ve some pri-iva-acy?"

_...Don't get angry..._ I can't recall if I ever felt seconds so long or heavy in my life, or relief so great inspired by such a cold tone.

For a moment he just stood there, his cold eyes fixed on me with nothing to give away the thoughts in his head. Then almost abruptly enough to make me jump he came back to life, and turned toward the door.

"You have five minutes." The sound of those hinges signals the end of his sentence and the finality of it as well.

I almost want to crumble back to the floor. I want the feel of those strong arms back, even if their comfort was only a fiction. I want that fiction back. I want that fiction to be real, but I know it will never be anything but a fiction.

I want those promised five minutes to never end, but I know that is a hopeless wish as well.

The thing I want most of all though, the most immediate wish in my head is this. To not find out what Clint will do to me if I do not change. The last time I did not do as he asked is still very fresh in my mind, the memory still lingering like a ghost in my flesh.

Looking down at the bundle in my arms I do only that for a small while. Looking.

It's an innocent object really. Nothing more than heavy brown paper folded in a specific manner and held in place by strings. Completely innocent in its own right, but the target of my misery and wrath all the same.

It seems foolish to be upset at it, but it's the only outlet I have, at least the only one that can't hurt me back.

Grabbing the string I tug at it. My effort turning into a full on yank as it offers up resistance.

I pay no mind to the way the threads leave an aggravated red line across my palm. I just continue on to the paper, shredding it beyond recognition and letting it land where it pleases.

All I care about is exposing what's inside. I am not gentle with that either. Grabbing the corner I jerk it out of the paper completely, letting it fall discarded from my hands as I shake the cloth harshly from its folded state.

I immediately almost wish I had not. _He...wants me... to wear... this?!_

Now to be honest, there isn't anything particularly indecent about the article of clothing in my hand. The night-shirt I was brought here could be considered more revealing than this dress I hold.

But to a woman with my condition and in my situation, my perspective is quite different.

The dress is a lovely piece of fashion on its own. A handkerchief dress made of two shades of emerald green. The color is not something that slips my notice, matching the dress I am in already and establishing the beginnings of a disturbing pattern.

But the thing about it that truly gives me pause is its coverage. There are no sleeves to this dress, nor a back and at the very most it only goes past my knees.

It is a dress designed to expose skin, not cover it. It is a dress I do not want to wear.

I would much rather keep on what I'm in, I'm much more comfortable in it. The long sleeves and floor length skirt are by far more to my preference at this point.

So much so that it makes the decision for me.

It's not a question of choice. If it was I would probably make a different choice, because I know the choice is a stupid one, a very, very stupid one. It's a choice I know I'm going to regret too, and likely very soon, if not immediately. _But... I just... I can't._

I can't. I can't do it. Even right now, all alone in the room by myself I can't do it. Just thinking about it makes my pulse pick up and my skin flush. I'm fidgety already with nerves.

My hands unable to remain idle as they fist around themselves, even as my feet have me walking in small tight circles, their pace matching my quick short breaths. "No, no, no, no..."

It is in that way, foolish but inevitable, that I pass my allotted five minutes. The sound of those damnable hinges signaling the next round of horrors like some kind of alarm.

It's no surprise to me that I find myself suddenly regretting my 'decision' if I can even call it that. Even more so when the form that follows Clint in is one I am familiar with."Oh, my lady..." The voice as well.

Clint takes up an idle position near the door and for the time being, a non threatening one.

Yet while my opinion on the concept of a 'nonthreatening assassin' is up to debate, it is however true that at least for now the other man in the room is the bigger threat. Clint is after all, and heartbreaking though it may be, the servant to this man. This Loki, who's continued speaking draws my attention back to him.

"You've neither eaten..." His words are accompanied by him casually tipping the lid of the tray a bit to look under before he continues on.

"... Or rested..." His eyes turn to take in the bed, the sheets there showing no change in their position since I scurried off them not that long ago.

The lid is allowed to fall, clattering a bit abrasively in the lack of other sounds. The silence is soon filled though with more sounds. His boot heels clicking against the floor as he makes his way toward me on deliberate steps.

"... Even the attire I offer you..." There was an amused twinkle in his eyes during all of this.

One that vanishes as he approaches me. "... All my generosity, you refuse. That is a decision most unwise."

"I'm not..." I all but whimper out that plea. I've said similar things before, several times in fact.

My dignity hates this pathetic creature I've been reduced to in this man's presence, but I don't know what else to do, so I continue with what seems to get me results. "... I wasn-n't, I just... I jus-ust..."

The sharp edge in his gaze softened, something that usually happens when I plead like this. Though I very much doubt the sincerity, seeing as his actions don't offer any sympathy to match his expression.

Right now though I am searching for, and grasping at anything I can to buy me time. False sympathy included.

"I-I ju-just... it's all s-so s-sudd-den... I-I mean th-thank you f-for the fo-food, but I do-nt thi... an-and the d-dr-ress..." I probably would have rambled on the stuttering excuse forever if he allowed me to. Thankfully for my pride but mercilessly for my sanity he does not.

"Shh..." His voice is gentle and soft and if I wasn't so afraid of him it might actually have succeeded in bringing comfort.

But I'm barely keeping it together. The intentions he made mention during his last visit lingering on the forefront of my memory. So with his already close proximity and his reaching hand outward it is no surprise what my reaction is.

I tense up and shrink away with a visible jerk. If I could see myself I imagine my reaction would look very similar to that of a beaten dog expecting a blow. I'm not sure the comparison is wrong either.

It only deters him for a moment. The pace of his movement slowing briefly before resuming, with another "Shh..." to accompany it.

My attempt to back up further is met with resistance, much to my surprise. I had been unaware of doing so while in the process but now as the solidness of the wall presses against my shoulder blades my mind catches up to the fact. I had been oh so slowly drifting away from them the whole time, only to be once more reminded the room is never going to be big enough for my comfort.

Another one of those beaten animal reactions is forced from me when his hand moves closer, my discovery of the wall allowing him to catch me a bit in surprise.

"No! No..." It is interrupted and silenced by his. "Hush now, shh..."

I listen at least for this particular instance, remaining silent instead of wasting breath on another pointless protest.

It is made easier by the fact his hand is not aiming for my skin, it instead seeks possession of the dress I have been clinging to this whole time. I had been gripping it like some kind of shield. But now so I don't encourage his touch I offer no resistance as he takes it up.

_Let him be intent on that._ If he is focusing on that it means his focus is less on me.

Not that with him this close it makes any difference. It's not like I could do anything without him noticing, or Clint for that matter. But it is still a relief, no matter how small or short.

"It is quite a lovely dress..." His attention remains fixed on the one in his hand at first, his fingers running over it idly before he looks up at the one I'm in and continues."...Can I not convince you to change? It would be a shame to ruin it."

I plead again, because what else can I do? "No, no, please, you don't have to do this..."

Even now just looking at those eyes though I can tell he isn't going to give me anything. His expression is much like before when they tied me to the chair and drugged me. A smile laced with sympathy.

"Oh, my little one. I know you are frightened, but this is for your benefit." His words of comfort are timed with the other hand rising. Its intention is obviously to touch me, and my first reaction is just as predictable. I jerk away.

But my following reaction is not so expected. It is a desperate reaction, and possibly one that might give me a heart attack in the process. I force myself to endure the feel of his hand, once more amidst the strands of my short honey colored hair.

"I-I d-don-nt ne-ed t-to be cu-ured-d..." The words aren't even convincing to my own ears, as full of stutter as my muscles are of shivers.

_Please. Please. Please. Oh please._ This has to work, I need this to work. I need to make this work... "W-Wha-atev-ev-er y-you want I-I ca-an..."

His face breaks into a smile, one that looks both proud and pleased with my attempt, but not merciful.

_Don't pull away don't pull away dontpullawaydontpullawaydont ..._ The chant looping through my mind melts into one long word, one singular complex sound, all because his hand drifts from my hair to my shoulder, to the naked skin of my shoulder.

"You are a brave woman..." Is what he says, smiling down at me as his icy skin scrapes against mine, giving birth to a sensation like insects beneath the trace of his thumb.

"...And your attempt is admirable. But this will happen. By your will or not."

* * *

"No, no no! Don't please I don't need! No Clint no! Stay away! Please! Whatever you want! I can! I'll do it! Please! Loki please no! Make him...ah! No! Get off! Get AH! No! No! No! No! Don't do this! Don't! Please! PLEASE! STOP! NO!"

Even beyond the sounds of voices and machinery being moved its appearance is loud enough and sudden enough to catch everyone's attention, making them pause in their tasks. The sound is coming from the small room at the end of this chamber, from beyond the heavy door.

The sound is a scream, an exceptionally loud series of screams, even echoing off the walls out here. They were only given any notice just because they were unexpected. These sobbing screams from a woman, the women that is in the room. The one that no one really understands why she is here.

It doesn't take the scientists long to ignore them and get back to work, it takes the soldiers even less time to disregard it.

It is only a matter of minutes before it's forgotten completely, the sound fading of its own accord back behind the door it emerged from.

* * *

Okay, there it is. Chapter five. What did you think? And for chapter 6 how would you wonderful readers like a chapter from Loki's point of view? Cause I love Nora, I really do, in all her 'oh god oh god' fashion but there is only so much panicking woman I can do before it becomes a bit redundant. Also for the record, since someone already thought it. No Nora is not being raped. I promise.

So you know the drill, read and review please. And like before, if you have a suggestion and it's a good one I might use it.


	6. Day 3

Here is chapter 6. Now I mentioned I would do a Loki POV if people wanted one. Even though NO ONE said anything... (Insert mock glare here)...

Once again, I own nothing that has anything to do with Marvel, or the quote at the beginning included. My fate in that regard is regrettable

But on to the story, the real reason you're all here.

* * *

_...Still round the corner there may wait a new road or a secret gate and though I oft have passed them by, a day will come at last when I shall take the hidden paths that run west of the Moon, east of the... Sun..._ It is a very soft sound, her sigh that finds its way into my ears. Its appearance in spite of its lack of volume draws my attention away from the fiction in my hand. The story, however interesting, was only a means to fill my time and of far less importance to me than the woman in the room.

She shifted in her sleep. Whatever thoughts are at play in her unconscious mind prompting her to tighten her grip on the blankets, even as she pulls her limbs closer in an attempt to become smaller.

Watching these actions inspires a soft sigh of my own. _Three days..._ It has been three days, and at present four nights since I had her brought to me. Three days since I reclaimed what is mine by right. Three days of blind fear and pleas for mercy.

I knew from the onset that she would be resistant to my efforts, though I do not blame her for it. It would be foolishly presumptuous of me to think my attempts to cure her would not be met with anything else.

Despite her belief it is not cruelty that guides my course of action. It is a necessity. She is not suitable to the plans I have in mind for her in her current condition. Ridding her of this phobia, this diseased mentality is in fact a mercy. The first of many mercies I will gift her. _Such a fate is deserved by no one._

I recall a similar opinion when I encountered her previously, and the first time as well. The fate others decided for her seemed unjust and unnecessarily harsh. Indeed by my enforcer's own account even the passage of time did nothing to improve her lot in life.

"The Norns are most cruel indeed." The sound of my voice elicits yet another restless moan from her throat. It reminds me very much of the fussing of an infant, and if I were not aware the true cause of them I might even imagine it an endearing gesture. But a terror so great that it even disturbs her rest was never truly my intention.

The book is still in my hands, but for all purposes it has been forgotten entirely, my mind's machinations now fixed on a single target that has nothing to do with ink and pages. _Well, at least not anymore... _In my musings of the past that statement was at odds with my memory. There was a time that she cared for nothing but ink and pages.

That moment of reminisce inspires both a smirk, and a sinking heart. It also inspires a thread of anger in me, a thread that is woven in part by my own actions.

Letting out another sigh, this one tinged with the tone of frustration I abandon the book completely. Draping it almost abusively across the arm as I rise to my feet, leaving the comfort of the plush chair in favor of a closer position to her.

It was less than a day's span ago that I finally acted on the desire for better furnishings. A course of action not only for my comfort, but hers as well. At present however, all that has been delivered is the ornately carved and leather upholstered wing back chair I have just exited.

I have requested additional furnishings of course, and have no doubt they will be acquired with haste. As much haste at least that is possible without drawing unwanted attention.

Standing at her bedside I am once again struck by the drastic contrast before me. The woman I remember, and the woman I see now are quite different creatures. Where I recall defiance and fury I now see only submission and unfettered fear.

_Through all my travels or the lack of I never met a woman of such unremarkable fascination as this one, who now slumbers under my gaze. _Indeed it is without question that she is lacking in any exceptional quality that should warrant my attentions. _A woman most ordinary..._

Letting my gaze travel it comes to rest on her face once more. Her slumbering state only making the innocence of her features more prominent, an effect that if not witnessed with my own eyes I would in truth doubt.

The induced nature of her rest has removed all the tension from her expression, with only minor incidents of exception. It's lacking has even cast its influence upon her mouth. The soft plush area that is her lips parted slightly allowing just a glimpse of the white teeth beyond as her breath emerges in gentle puffs.

While her eyes remain closed as all those who rest are known to do the flutter beyond her lids gives testament to whatever dream keeps its hold on her, only threatened by the strands of hair clinging to her lashes.

Though I doubt something as slight as a few rebellious strands will rouse her I lack the desire to give them the chance. In what I imagine she would consider an unusual bout of courtesy I brush the hairs back, taking care not to let even the tips of my fingers encounter her soft flesh.

Smoothing the rowdy locks into their proper place with great care I allow my thought to finish._... Yet I am aware of no other who will do._

"The Norns are most kind..."

* * *

I know this chapter was really short. I apologize for that. But the story is really about how things look and develop from Nora's POV and if I kept going I would be giving away things, something that was really hard not to do anyway. Lol. But I will try to make up for it in the next chapter.

Oh yeah, I almost forgot.

LEAVE A REVIEW! IT IS NOT THAT HARD! LOL!


	7. Day 4: part 1

You know the usual drill. I own nothing. Except Nora. Poor abused Nora. And of course the kitten which has somehow been so adorable it has a number one fan... and possibly a fan club. Anyways, here is seven for you. I hope this clears some things up, because in my mind it all makes sense, but you aren't in my mind and because of that the last chapter may have seemed a bit off. But enough of me. Get to the reading.

* * *

The passage of time is a strange thing and quite a difficult one as well. At least, that's how it has become for me. I have no means to measure it anymore. The sun does not reach this room and by my rare glimpses beyond the door my room is not the exception. So I can't judge it by that. The meals do not help me either as there has yet to be a time food isn't waiting for me, whether I am hungry or not. Sleep has proven an equally useless means of tracking time also. Since by my count, including all the times I have fainted, this is the thirteenth time I've regained consciousness.

Just like the previous twelve I am reluctant to do so. None of them have been in any way enjoyable up to this point and I have no reason to imagine this one will be any different.

The first session was probably the worst, just because I wasn't sure what to expect. I thought or hoped I could reason with him. I hoped I could convince him that this 'cure' was unnecessary. I needed to convince him whatever task he had in mind for me I could do it. I was capable of it already. It did not turn out how I prayed.

My 'refusal' to change into the dress he had provided was rewarded by Clint's hands. He corralled me in a corner of the room and proceeded to tailor the garment despite my struggling. He tore off the sleeves, and much of the skirt. Even the back was not spared. That was torn as well, right down to the small of my back.

I had to hold the fabric up just to keep it from slipping off me. I couldn't even pretend it was a dress anymore. It was just shredded fabric now.

They weren't done though, even though I was already sobbing and shaking, curled up into a ball on the floor begging for it to stop.

Clint once again obeys his commands proceeded to wrestle my flailing hands under his control. It was no surprise he overpowered me, I knew even before I tried he would. It was more of a surprise he didn't strike me back as he had done before. The lingering hope that his lack of violence meant something more vanished when I was informed he was under orders not to strike me.

It did not take him long to get me into a secure hold. He had captured my wrists in one hand and was holding them at the base of my spine. No amount of tugging on my part was enough to break them free. His other hand had a grip just as secure, but without the crushing effect given its place at my throat.

I would have tried kicking if not for the fact that in this position he had me balancing on my tip toes with one of my legs pulled back and wrapped with his. Any attempt would have ended with me likely choking myself as I have no reason to believe he would adjust his grip.

It only left me with no option. None but this man who knew how terrified I was but didn't care, and was dead set on forcing me to live through this.

I don't know how long it took for me to faint. The air I had in my lungs was quickly used up as I screamed in between moments of gasping for more.

He never even touched more than my collarbone.

When I woke up I had no idea if minutes or days had passed. It was to the sight of him, just him. That gave me a bit of hope. I was allowed and even encouraged to eat. I did not refuse, thinking if I did as he asked he might leave me alone, even if just for a little while. The fact that I did feel very hungry didn't hurt. Once again the apple was devoured first.

I changed as well, modesty taking a back seat and forced myself to not think about the fact he was watching me the whole time. I hoped if I wore the dress he gave me it would make him happy.

It did. But it changed nothing and with Clint's summoned return I found myself trapped and suffering just like before until unconsciousness claimed me again.

The third through sixth times were met with the same results. I was allowed a chance to eat and change before we resumed. No matter what I said, what I tried or offered I always ended up trapped in the unsympathetic hold of a man I called friend and family for almost two and a half years as I screamed and struggled my way out of awareness.

The seventh time was different. I woke up alone. There was the meal and as usual there was an apple. There was also clothing. But however long I sat there dreading what I was sure to come it did not. I fell asleep waiting to suffer, my nerves alone draining the energy from me.

When I woke up it was to the prick of a needle in my arm. It was a paralytic. The reasoning they gave me was so I no longer risked injuring myself struggling. If it was meant to be a kindness I did not see it that way. How could I? When now I could only watch, unable to so much as squirm when what terrified me drew closer. His cool fingers closing my eyelids only made it worse.

The ninth time until the twelfth passed this way. Only now Clint had to pin me down so they could get the needle in my vein.

It was how I expected time thirteen to go as well.

Instead I find myself awake again and alone. The absence of people doesn't comfort me. Last time I woke up alone my hope only gave way to something worse. This time I'm not going to hope, I'm too worried about what it will give me. _What twist is this cure going to take now?_

Truth be told, I want to be cured. I always have. Everyday for the last three years I have wanted to overcome this phobia. I've wanted to know what someone's touch felt like without the terror to ruin it. _Every single day since the day I woke up with it._

It's been nothing but a struggle uphill the entire time. When it first showed its face, it was with the intensity of a cannon ball to the chest. The first person who made the mistake of touching my skin was rewarded with broken wrist for his efforts.

I don't even recall doing it. I had blacked out, and all from the innocent attempt of a nurse to check my pulse. When I came back to reality I found myself strapped to the bed like some sort of criminal. They had wrapped nearly every inch of my skin under my chin in bandages, making an exception to a few places for IV's and monitors. Yet even with that barrier I found myself terrified at just the possibility of someone's touch.

I was dead set on getting rid of it, I never gave up. Even though it terrified me, I wanted nothing more than to be able to hold the hand of a friend, or share a hug with someone I loved. I wanted to be able to accidentally bump someone in the halls and not panic.

_I got there too._ I wasn't completely cured of it yet, but for the last month or closer to two I could tolerate small touches or the occasional brush of skin. It still made my pulse quicken but it no longer turned me into a mindless creature of fright and if it ever became too uncomfortable I only had to put on my sleeve length gloves. It wasn't gone, but it was under control.

_Then it was undone._ The attack by Clint removed month's, if not an entire year's worth of hard-won progress. Month's, week's, day's, hour's and second's of stubborn determination suddenly meant nothing. The plans I had were ripped out of reach. Plans of celebration and hugs, of friendly touches and laughter, perhaps even a quick kiss on a certain soldier's cheek just to see him blush. _Clint stole more than my freedom when he stole me._

_I wanted to be cured. But never like this._

Letting my senses do their job I find nothing to counter my guess that I am alone. I see no glimpse of movement, or hear the sound of shifting clothes and breathing. Even my sense of smell confirms it. The scent of leather lingers in the air, but only faintly. It is outweighed by the scent of dust and damp air.

There is only one thing to tell me people have been in the room. A new chair has appeared, most likely brought in some time during my drug induced sleep. It is a very expensive and lovely piece of furniture to be sure, but to me it is also something more. It's a beacon of hope.

_If it has a label maybe I can find out where I am._ Most furniture has a manufacturing mark somewhere on it, some even have the mark of the store that carries it.

It is a tempting enough idea to even make me move off the bed. I have taken to spending most of my time on it and it's not because I am tired. The only other surface I could sit on until now was that metal chair, which I've developed a hatred of. There is also the fact that the floor is frigid and rough against my feet. I arrived barefoot and despite all the dresses he has given me not so much as a pair of slippers yet.

Grimacing a bit I force my feet to endure the discomfort, stubbornly ignoring their protests even as I try to keep my steps light and brisk. The pleats of the nightgown follow after, lingering a bit on the mattress before falling and stirring up an unappreciated cool breeze as it sways to a stop around my ankles.

I had hoped to have the time to look at it. I had also hoped in general for just more time before they returned. The familiar sound of the key in the lock and those groaning hinges though takes that away. _You would think by now I would know better._

The first face that appears in the room isn't Clint's or Loki's, it's not even Erik's. Unlike the last time an unfamiliar face entered the room this one is a man's face. It is just as grim and serious as the woman's was but where her appearance only made me nervous, his frightened me.

I can hear more male voices following him as he walks with purpose right across the room toward me.

The idea of several men or several people in general has me back pedaling again. It's more specifically the idea of several pairs of hands, my fear multiplying with thoughts of each potential appendage touching my skin.

The possibility alone has me distracted enough that I lose track of my footing. The skirt becoming trapped under my heel and my continued retreat takes on a different direction.

My attempt to right myself only made worse when my other foot lands on my dress as well, forcing me to stumble even more off-balance. The joint effort of my arms pinwheeling yet jerking away from his reaching hands does nothing but make me fall all the faster.

So it comes as no surprise when I feel the ground against my back. It was a surprise however when another thud followed mine.

It takes my mind a moment to catch up to what my eyes are seeing. When they do it is to the sight of the man who had reached for me now being pinned to the wall. His arm, the same one that had been extended is now twisted around and jerked up to a position between his shoulder blades. The other hand of the man restraining him is no less busy, the hilt of a large knife held in its grasp as he presses the tip against the base of the man's skull.

It takes another blink of my eyes before I recognize who it is that has pinned him. _Clint...?!_

What couldn't have been more than a second in reality seemed much longer. My mind so surprised at the idea of Clint attacking his own men that it went into a state of shock. It likely would have remained that way too if not for the color red appearing in my vision, and the realization of why.

The sight of that first drop of blood beading around the tip of Clint's knife snaps me out of it. The world rushes to catch up to the present while I scramble up to my feet.

I'm not thinking about what I'm doing. I'm not thinking about the fact that the man Clint has pinned against the wall tried to touch me. I'm not thinking about the other people coming into the room or what they're doing. I'm only thinking about getting Clint to stop before he severs this mans skull from his spine.

It's a foolish action to take, it's also an unsuccessful one. My attempt is interrupted before it even has a chance to begin.

I hadn't even risen fully to my feet when his voice catches our attention. "Though I appreciate your intensity Agent Barton, I believe she does not."

The sound of Loki's voice accomplishes much more than I likely ever could, it makes Clint stop. Not release the man he has in his hold, or remove the blade, but at least he stops applying pressure. The killing intent hasn't left him. The only thing that's changed is now he is waiting for it to become an order.

It's an order that doesn't come. In fact to my great surprise he orders Clint to let him go.

If Clint has an opinion or thought on that order it never shows even a little in his expression. He merely flipped his grip on the handle and re-sheathing the blade, releasing the man from his near death experience.

He wastes little time disappearing from the room and given what it earned him not a minute ago he also makes a point to look anywhere except at me. I don't blame him for it either, since his attempt to stop the stumble he caused was an offense punishable by death. _It seems touching me has now become an exclusive right._

My attention is quickly brought to a centered one with the hand that appears before me, belonging to one who is privileged enough to do so. I am tempted to turn down the offer to help me to my feet, but I know better by now. _It will only end badly for me, and probably that man running for his life as well._ Though I don't know so much as the poor soldier's name it doesn't change the fact I have no desire to get someone tortured or killed for the sake of my comfort.

I've found that accepting his courtesies works to my benefit. It may not change the outcome, but until now it almost always delayed it. It's with that thought I find the moment of courage I need.

My hand despite my best effort still trembles as his own closes lightly around it. _It isn't a real hand._ I let those words cycle through my head, doing my best to pretend it isn't skin I'm feeling. The lie's not entirely convincing, but it succeeds enough.

_After all... _I tell myself _...A real hand wouldn't stay so cool._

The chant continues, doing its best to smother my increasing urge to jerk away as let him help me to my feet. It is an effort that is made more difficult when his other hand rests over my waist to steady me. The layer of the dress separating us does a small part to ease my discomfort. The reassurance is tiny but one of the few I can claim there at all.

It is to my surprise at first when I actually feel his hold on my hand loosen, then to my gratitude. Though as the hand that had claimed mine finds a new destination I'm not sure if the gratitude is still appropriate.

He is now rather fascinated with the material of my skirt.

The realization as to why doesn't make it any better. The nightgown now bares a new feature, a tear that has found its way up to my knee.

"I-I..." The stutter has found its way back into my voice, inspired by the many unwelcome possibilities running through my head. One's that only stay possibilities until they become certainties and history informs me that they will.

My captor has proven himself to be a very particular man, as well as one who is very fond of details. He likes things better, it would seem, when they are in their proper place. That extends to people, plans and obviously appearance as well, particularly mine.

In the thirteen times I have woken up it has been a regular occurrence to find myself presented with yet another dress. Each a shade of emerald and finely made, though by whom I have no idea as each is also without tags or labels.

I would find these gifts much more genuinely appreciated if it weren't for the sense that he sees me in the light of an expensive doll, one whose owner would never let it be seen in anything so vile as a flawed dress.

It has become the pattern up to this point, and so it has become a pattern I expected to continue. But when those eyes meet mine and silence my voice it is with something unexpected.

I had assumed I would not be allowed to remain in the ruined clothes, that I would be forced to change. Immediately. It turns out my assumption is wrong, and reminds me that perhaps it is not wise to assume.

Instead of being forced to strip out of the gown I am given a different option. A far more pleasant but suspicious option as well. His hand that was not occupied with my hip has extended itself to lift the knit 'house coat' as he called it off the end of the bed and is now setting it around my shoulders.

It's a sweet gesture but again one I am not entirely comfortable with. Of course it's also one I can't do anything about. Doing my best not to dwell on the fact that to set the robe on my shoulders he has to encircle me in his arms I focus on giving him a pleasant smile and an appreciative "Thank you."

It is met with his usual smile, the one that says he is pleased with my actions as well as amused.

He follows that smile with words that make me once again doubt his sincerity. "You are most welcome my lady. Such a small courtesy is not beyond me." _I have a different opinion on that._ But it's one I dare not share out loud.

Cautious about what the use of my voice might earn me I choose to nod graciously instead. It is a reaction he seems satisfied with, those eyes of his crinkling a bit more around the edges with amusement before shifting their focus from my face to their task. His fingers nimbly tying the strings of the robe into a neat bow and he even goes so far as to smooth the material into place.

It's again something that would be a sweet if I wasn't phobic, or a prisoner. I want nothing more than to move away from his touch and maybe even curl up into a corner. The only things allowing me not to are the layers of material between us, my insistence that his hands are not 'real' and my immense desire not to piss him off.

Upsetting him in the past turned out horrible for me, and that was only with Clint and himself in the room. Now there are many more people present. I had only been vaguely keeping track of their comings and goings. My attention had been rather focused on a certain set of hands. But now those hands seem content with what they have accomplished and are moving farther away from me.

As the threat of their return grows less likely with each passing second my relief does also, and with my relief the ability to focus on more than one thing does as well.

It is followed quickly with growing confusion.

The room has been filled with at least a dozen soldiers and while their proximity is unnerving it is not enough to distract me from my confusion. It is not their presence that has me wondering so much as their actions.

They are taking my furniture! _Well... not mine, but still._ In the absence of knowing how to react I come to a more evolved realization. While they are removing the furniture from the room, they also seem to be bringing more in.

_Much... more..._ Even my mental voice is a bit in awe as I watch a pair of them cut open the plastic straps holding two layer's of heavy cardboard in place, and expose what turns out to be a headboard for a bed, a very ornate headboard at that.

It stands nearly as tall as the people holding it up. The middle is rounded up to the highest point and at the top there is a carving that very much reminds me of the head of a gazelle, while behind it is the spread of wood carved to mimic the appearance of ferns. The smooth expanse of its center is decorated as well, this time in the imitation of curved vines and rare flowers. Even the sides are matched in detail, each a pedestal with an acorn at its tip. It is a lovely piece, just as the next piece to be revealed is and the piece after that.

A vanity with carved decorations and a stool with a green cushion appears and are set against one of the walls, several silver looking objects being placed in its drawers before I can identify them better.

An armoire that barely fit through the doorway is set in place next to it. The wood colored to match the rest with the exception of its lighter accent panels and the mirror that stretches down its center. It too is being filled with things, but these are softer and in shades of green.

What I can only assume to be a china cabinet appears next, but its size is shorter than any I have ever seen before. It has only two shelves of glass behind its twin doors, as well as the bottom to place things on. The top inset with glass also, put there to protect the wood beneath it. Silver items are placed in it too, but this time I can identify them. The shelves are being filled with dining sets that look like something straight out of the movie Titanic.

A table is the next thing to appear. It is carved like the rest, claw footed with flowers and leaves. The round polished surface seems just big enough to seat four. A guess that turns out correct when exactly four chairs with black upholstery find their way into the room and around the table.

The next item is unfamiliar because I have never owned one, but its shape is similar enough for me to recognize it as a desk of some kind. Every surface on it but the length of its legs is covered in carving mush like the other furniture so far. It is given a chair, but instead of bringing one in they set the armchair in front of it.

A couch is next. Though given its length it could be a lounge as well. The wood frame of it is of course carved which I now expect. It looks rather Victorian. Something I now realize is true for everything so far. The shade of its fabric is no surprise either, a particular shade of green to contrast the brown.

Even lighting is brought through the door, the overhead fluorescent bulbs apparently no longer good enough. Several lamps are brought in, both table lamps and floor lamps but all in the same style. The feet and length of them are sculpted metal. Wreaths and vines and even the heads of lionesses adorn it. While the lamp shades are a metal frame of leafed vines and harps with tan cloth stretched taut behind it.

All of it is nice, the gesture as well as the furniture itself. _But it's too nice._ I've come to associate kindness with trickery and hidden motives here. I have yet to be given a reason not to. The next few items only encourage that belief.

In the order of innocent appearance they go like this. The first is an old fashion washstand, the kind with a basin and pitcher, as well as a mirror. It even has rails to hang towels from and two candle holders set to offer light near the mirror if necessary. The accents on the ceramics are of course in his favorite shade.

The second item is only made wicked when accompanied by the third. It is an item of twisted metal bent into a specific pattern, its purpose to hold towels. Towels I would make use after I used its companion, a large copper tub.

It is a distressing idea. Though I often enjoyed long baths I don't have any real desire to make use of that one, not with the very real possibility of being walked in on.

But that anxiety takes a back seat when I notice something else even worse. The bed has been put together, and as I said before it is a very nice bed. But when they unfold and arrange the blankets over it I notice that it's also a very large bed, o_ne big enough for two people and the only one in the room._

"Have you studied it adequately?" His voice is all but a whisper in my ear and with my flinched jerk away it transforms into a small chuckle as well.

In my mental moment of distress I somewhat forgot just how close he was to me. So it's really no surprise he chose that way to remind me, just as I imagine me backing up and turning to face him with my guard up is something he expected too.

As well as my confused reply. "I-I don't understand?"

Another smirk appears, the number I've seen of those beyond count. He motions casually of the objects filling the room. "Do your new accommodations please you?"

The level of my confusion just sky rocketed. _Did he just...ask if...?!_ I play that sentence back in my head several times, sure it's going to change into something else. But it doesn't. I just keep hearing him ask for my opinion, for my approval.

The whole situation is turning into something like a trip down the rabbit hole. If anything I expected that was not on the list. One thing is for sure though. I'm not telling him what I really think. _I'd rather have the old furniture back._

"I... uhm, yes... I think." I sound meek and unsure, but offer him what I hope is a steady smile while I continue. "It's just... so... much..."

It seems like the confusion just isn't going to stop any time soon. Once more what he says makes no sense to me. "Hm, yes. I imagine you've become accustomed to a much more..." The corner of his mouth literally curves with distaste before it speaks the word."...meager standard of living."

His expression changes again, curving up into a smile this time. "But you hardly need to endure in that squalor anymore. I am sure you will become used to these comforts again."

Now the list of things I'm feeling has offended added to it. I may have never had a castle on a hill or gold plated dishes but I never lived in squalor. He makes it sound like I slept in the dirt under the elements and in the company of animals.

Even worse is that I get the feeling that by only calling my 'standard of living' a 'meager' one he is really setting it at a higher opinion than his real one. It's an unnecessary show of manners and a mockery of a compliment at best.

If I lacked anything this extravagant, it wasn't because it was beyond my means, merely my desire. I lived well within my comforts. I had no reason for name brands when the clothes from the second hand store were just as good in my opinion.

I lived beneath my means not because I had to, but because I wanted to. I saw no need to do anything else. I had everything I wanted or needed to live comfortably. I had plenty of money to fill my cupboard with food, keep the bills paid and my tank full. Even when I felt the urge to treat myself to something extra I had enough for that too.

The offensiveness of his statement aside I find myself once again with more questions. _Why does he think I lived in filth?_ I know Clint has told him things, but that doesn't seem like anything Clint would say, especially since he was the one who approved the home. I needed to have the home I choose approved by a superior before I could begin the off base detail.

But the bigger question in my head is much simpler. It's just a word. A single word. _Again?_ He said again, that I would become used to it... again. I've caught these little bits of speech more and more. Little hints of familiarity with me that he shouldn't have. Now of course I'm aware he is getting information from Clint. But some of the things don't seem like that. Some of them seem more direct, like he knew it first hand, l_ike he knows me._

I want to deny these things. But I can't bring myself to do it. I'm just not sure enough, not certain enough to call it a lie.

Those thoughts are not allowed to continue any longer. His voice cutting through them and scattering them like wisps of fog. "You merely need to be given the time to do so."

Maybe at an earlier time those words, even as vague as they are might have inspired a bit of hope. But any that tries to form now is quickly crushed.

"I regret..." Even in the midst of his sentence I am sure I know what is coming just by those words. I knew it would happen, it always does. _The 'cure' continues..._

"...That I can not stay while you settle in. I have more pressing matters to tend to at the moment. I hope you do take advantage of this time however. You seem in need of it and I think the chance to relax will do you well."

_That's wrong._ It has to be wrong. I was expecting something else. Maybe even the exact opposite of that. I was waiting for Clint to grab me, for yet another needle to end up in my arm. I was prepared for that. _But not this... not something... nice._

_It's got to be a trick._ It's a conclusion that comes quickly, and the only one that comes. He is just dangling this illusion of kindness in front of me so he can rip it away and get...G_et what? What could he possibly get from that?_

Even while trying to insist it's right I can feel it crumbling to pieces. I can't think of any reason it would benefit him to do this. But there has to be one. _I mean, why else would he do this? _Why be so heartless about it before, and then suddenly switch? It makes no sense, and nothing is coming to mind to help it make sense.

Still unable to accept it in my head I just watch the actions of the people in the room, and each one just leaves me more stumped. They're moving, they all are. But not one of them is moving toward me.

Some of them are gathering up the tools they used to put the furniture together while others are folding up the boxes they came in, but all of them are heading for the door.

One soldier at a time the room becomes less crowded. It's like witnessing some freak natural occurrence. Your eyes know what they're seeing but your brain just can't catch up.

Even when the unfamiliar faces have all left the room and it's just Clint and Loki I still feel like I'm on the wrong end of a rubber band, I'm just waiting for it to snap back in place.

It should have snapped back in place sooner. My common sense apparently a little behind as well given the word I speak. "Loki..."

If I didn't expect it he seemed to expect it even less. He had been on his way out the door like everyone else, but now his steps pause and his face has turned back to mine. Curiosity and a hint of amusement are what decorate his expression. "Yes, my lady?"

_Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Why did you do that?! He was leaving!_ The mental thrashing I am giving myself is well deserved, right down to the imagined barbs of glass. There is no logic to what I just did. But I did it just the same, and now I have their attention.

Both he and Clint are watching me expectantly. Loki has one hand resting casually against the edge of the open door while Clint is a few paces behind, standing in his usual at attentive manner and just waiting for him to start back up, his eyes still unnerving as ever when they land on me.

I can't hold the gaze of those damn things more than a moment. It brings up too many memories, if they're even old enough to be called memories.

Forcing that thought away I let my own eyes look at the floor for a moment while I recollect myself and lift my gaze to meet the pair of green eyes across from me.

"Thank you. Loki." It came out much more genuine sounding than I thought it would, but the tone and its sincerity matched perfectly. Everything in that delivery of it was completely honest. _I don't know the reason, but I really am thankful for this, even if it is a lie._

Even his response this time is a bit different then usual. Typically he responds with words. This time it's just a smile, a soft and pleasant looking one that sits on his lips as he nods. It is a single nod, almost a bit like a very small bow.

That's all I get. He doesn't approach me, he doesn't even ask for anything. He just walks out the door, and Clint walks after him. The sound of the door closing with the lock turning marking an official end to the conversation and letting the world catch up at last.

Even with my wits back it still feels just as much like a dream as when I was in it. It still makes no sense. But I'm not really thinking about that. My mind remembers something else. Some small detail I'm actually glad I missed at the time, because if I noticed I would have reacted. I know I would have.

_I always loved the shade of his eyes. _The color in those pools reminded me a bit of the sea, trapped somewhere between gray and blue with small amounts of green. I saw that shade again, only a flicker in an instance but I'm sure I saw it. _Oh Clint... _"...What do I do?"

* * *

Well there was seven. I'll start eight soon. And OMG finally Nora is getting her personality back, even if it's just a little. But I'm tired and this chapter was so hard to do, so that's it for now.

Oh and is usual there are new pictures up. The link is on the profile page

Read and review please.


	8. Day 4: part 2

Once again here is the disclaimer stating that I (sob) own nothing that is Marvel. I am merely taking advantage of it. Hmm delicious taking advantage of... Okay! I'm back! (Wipes off drool. What? Don't judge me! Lol.)

Anyways. Bit of an author's note. If for the next few chapters Loki seems OOC from how I've portrayed him, remember one thing. Its Loki, lord of basketed cats! Trust in the fact I know what I'm doing. All will be revealed, there is a reason behind everything that happens in this story. EVERYTHING.

Now on to chapter eight. HUZZAH!

* * *

The sound of those hinges greets my ears again making me draw a nervous breath, but that is the only reaction I give it for the time being.

I've abandoned the bed. Well the truth is that I haven't even touched this new one. I would happily take back the small uncomfortable one that was in here before if given the choice. At least with that one I didn't have to worry about unexpected company, and until I have no other choice I'm not going to risk it.

That logic ruled out the couch as well. It was made to fit more than one person and I doubt that even if I stretched across the whole thing I could convince him not to use it if he decided to.

So I'm occupying the large leather backed chair in the room. My knees are bent up under my chin to I keep my feet off the cold ground. My arms are crossed over my chest as well, one of my hands busy with its fingers toying at the collar of yet another robe.

After he left for whatever pressing business he had I was absent anything to draw my attention from my thoughts. So it didn't take long for the anxiety to get the better of me. The robe he sat on my shoulder came off quickly. I could no longer stand the thought of wearing something he touched. It was a foolish notion considering he's probably touched everything I've been given at least once. But it was still a strong enough one for me to leave it lying on the floor.

I wanted to ignore his new gifts as well, but the shivering soon changed my mind. Without the blankets of the bed to hold my heat and being in only thin silk the cold of the room made quick work of stealing my warmth. Giving up my attempt at spite I decided to see what I could find in the new clothes I was given.

The thing I found and am now bundled in is something between a cloak and a robe. The outer layer feels velveteen to the touch and its smooth green surface is interrupted with the relaxed swirling of very thin vines. As for the inside of it, it is lined entirely in fur, what kind I'm not sure. I only now it's in varying shades of silver like gray and is definitely real fur.

I consider not wearing it at first and putting it back. I have never been a fan of furs. The idea of killing a creature only for its hide and nothing else seemed so wasteful and cruel to me. But I've always been a practical person also. I had nothing to do with the animals that now lined this robe or the people who did it. My refusal to wear it would only accomplish one thing, I would still be cold. Whether I put it on or not they would still be dead and lining its interior.

That is why I am now up in the chair bundled up so much that even most of my face is hidden by its heavy soft hood, my fingers idly stroking the fur pretending it belongs to something small and prone to purring. The illusion of familiarity helps me calm the thoughts that had raced through my head. _Something I'm sure I'm going to need._

I can hear him linger in the doorway for a moment longer, most likely because he is looking at my shape curled up in the chair. Then the door hinges groan again, and the sound of the lock turning fills the room. His footsteps follow, and identify who he is. I've been here long enough to recognize the sound of that walk. _A fact that is somewhat depressing as much as it is useful._

Its Loki, and given no other footsteps in the room it seems this time it is just Loki. _That too is a useful but depressing fact. _I had hoped a bit for someone else. Whether that is a hope worth having I don't know but it might be better this way though, for him at least.

_But I can't be thinking about that right now. Those are thoughts for when I'm alone, not in the presence of eyes._

I can tell by the sound where he is and even with my vision blocked by the back of the chair it seems like he is at the table, though I have no desire to check. I just don't care right now. It may seem like a bad idea to not watch him but I've figured out a little while ago that whether I watch him or not he is going to do what he wants, when he wants to.

Whatever he is doing at the table I can only guess involves my meal. The slight sound of metal sliding against metal when the lid of the serving tray is removed has become a familiar one. But the situation isn't.

Normally my meals are delivered by Clint or Erik, or occasionally a soldier. Even when he came in with them he was not the one who carried it or set it out. Never once has he done this, it would be the first time. _It always seemed like something beneath him._

I find it suspicious, this change of pattern. My mind is busy trying to come up with a reason for why he would do this. The most realistic one out of the lot is one I came to before. _It's poisoned._ Not with anything lethal of course. I know now he wants me alive, though I still don't know why. But instead of using needles they must have decided to drug my food.

It's a trick. The whole thing is an act. I may have never met the qualifications of an agent, but I still picked up things in the past three years with them. I don't need to be an agent to analyze situations and guess at the motives behind actions. The people I made friends with taught me how to do that. _People like Clint..._

_Clint._ That name shoots holes in my theory just as soon as I think it up. I'd come to the conclusion that this was just an act to throw me off my guard somehow. But Clint's here, and controlled or not Clint knows me. Clint knows I wouldn't fall for it, that I would be suspicious. _Clint would have told him that. So what is it?_

"I was told you've kept your fondness of fish?" While I hadn't forgotten about him being in the room the topic change surprises me, and for a moment leaves me confused._Fish? _"What?"

"I'd been informed me you have a preference for salmon." It seems my confusion sparked his own. "Was that incorrect?"

Though I would much rather just remain silent in this chair I no longer have that option anymore. Now that I have his attention, something I can only blame myself for catching, it would be rude to not answer. It would also be a bad idea. Rudeness of any kind directed toward him usually is, and I would rather speak with him than be punished.

Letting out a slow breath I try to gather my courage with it, though it doesn't really succeed. _Not that I expected it to, it just would have been nice._ "No..."

My toes curl in irritation when they touch the floor again. They want to go back to the warm imprint they left on the chair but I stubbornly refuse, ignoring their protesting. _It's only cold feet... and a bit of cramped muscles._ My knees protest too when I unbend them as I stand, the muscles and joints groaning and popping as they remember what they're supposed to do.

Now on my feet I make the short trip around the tall chair, putting its back to mine before I stop. I'm not quite brave enough yet to go any closer unless I have to. "...I like salmon."

Given he is talking about my taste in food right after bringing in my meal I can only assume that it includes salmon. So for the sake of politeness I include a "Thank you" as well, despite my lingering suspicions.

His response is spoken with a small smile. I'm glad then. It would be a shame to serve you something you did not enjoy." Even while saying this his hands are active, and I can't say I enjoy in what way.

"Come, sit and eat." He says it as if it's not a command, all the while pulling out the chair for me.

_It just became an 'I have to' situation._ I'm reluctant to obey his thinly disguised command, but I find myself doing it anyway. However uncomfortable moving closer to him may make me, not doing this will only end up with me even more uncomfortable, I'm sure.

My steps are slow and hesitant but the space is far too small for the trip to be a long one. But if it took forever I know it wouldn't be long enough for me. I stick with accepting reality, and my current reality is one where he is going through the motions of being a gentleman and waiting for me to sit.

_At least that's one I would have preferred._ It's what I expected and forced myself to accept. But when I drew closer to him he moved in a way that had nothing to do with helping me sit. His hand came up and my feet reversed, moving me backwards instead automatically. A reaction that's sure to upset him

"..." His silence only makes that assumption grow. I can't bring myself to lift my gaze high enough to meet his, I don't want to see the anger in his expression or risk making it worse. If I want anything it's to make him less upset with me, and my words are spoken in that attempt."I'm sorry."

His silence continues, and my concern that I've pissed him off just grows with it. Right up until the point I feel the weight of his hand.

Even if it isn't the blow I expected I still flinch and draw away, or at least my body makes the effort to. His hold of my shoulder, even though light, is still a secure one.

"I'm so..." He cuts off my attempt. "Shh..." It isn't in a way I expected however. "I've been far too cruel to you."

That gets my attention. I'd been expecting a punishment or angry words. Not an... _Apology?! _I'm almost certain I heard it wrong, that my ears misinterpreted the tone or something. But it's in his eyes too.

It takes me that long to realize I lifted my head, and when I do it quickly drops back down. My action earns a chuckle from him, but a sad sounding one. It also brings the reappearance of his hand in my sight.

The purpose is to tip my head back up to meet his gaze, something that does happen, but without his touch. My head once again shifting to avoid the feel of his cold skin on mine. It's another reaction I expect a less than pleasant response to, and one he doesn't give me yet again.

The hand doesn't stop moving, but it doesn't become hostile either like I imagined it would. It just finds the edge of the hood and with great care to NOT touch my face, he moves it back. He even goes so far as to lay it flat and smooth around my shoulders.

"Truly cruel, if you flinch now from even the sight of me." He sounds angry now, but it's not at me. It's like he is upset with himself. _Like that's what he wants me to believe..._ "I... am sorry."_...And he is going awfully far to convince me._

* * *

I planned on making this chapter longer. But that just screamed good place to stop. So I did lol. Now remember. Reason for everything. Points up at top. I have a plan people, and I swear it doesn't involve the land of OOC at all. Just let me get it out.

Also, does anybody here like it when I do different POV's, like when I did the chapters (or part of a chapter) in Loki's POV? Does anyone want me to do that again? Or maybe Clint's? Or Erik's? Or are you all content with Nora? Let me now in a review or PM. Well, I'm off to start chapter nine I guess.


	9. Day 4: part 3

Okay. I own nothing. Wow I'm getting really tired of saying that. Anyways. On to more important things. Like letting you all know I pay attention.

To the reviewer known is random person. I'm glad you love my story. Honestly people, I do a little happy dance (and no I'm not elaborating on that) every time I get a review. Is for your request for different POV's thank you for your opinion. I have a few ideas for some in mind, but it may take a little while to get to them so bare with me please and thank you.

The same goes for the others who reviewed. I read and reply to every one I get, is well is take them into account. So keep them coming.

Well, on to chapter nine.

* * *

"... You're..." I don't know where the bravery that lets me speak comes from. "... You're... sorry?!" Or the stupidity. _The idea is to NOT piss him off!_ Something I assumed the sharp almost angry tone my voice took was going to do.

"Yes... I am." He replies, his expression now more sad than angry but with a hint of a smile. _I really need to stop assuming things, and talking too, apparently._

I've gotten lucky so far that my loosening tongue hasn't gotten me in trouble, and I'm determined to stop before it does.

Thankfully, if he has an opinion on my silence it's not an offended one. He just fills the silence for me. "It was never my intention..." His voice trails off for a moment as his own fingers seem to find the fur on me fascinating. They trail over it for a moment, the fur parts around his digits and then his thumb when he briefly lifts a section for his inspection.

While he is busy studying it I am doing my best to ignore the pressure of his touch, as well as thoughts on how little a barrier the robe really is. It's with great relief he doesn't find it fascinating long, letting it slide free of his grasp he finally continues speaking. "...To cause you such anguish Arnora."

_Again with that name._ It isn't my name. Sure it is similar, very similar in fact. There is only a two letter difference between the names, but it doesn't change the fact that it's not my name. I find myself tempted to tell him as much, again. _It's never convinced him in the past, so why should it now? _So I remain silent.

"You doubt my sincerity in this?" _Maybe silence wasn't such a great idea after all._

"I, no. I just...!" Where my voice is a bit frantic with nervousness his is calm and reassuring, with a hint of amusement. "Hush now. It is alright."

_If he wants me to be quiet again, I'm going to do it. _Because I have no real idea what to expect out of this situation anymore.

"Your lack of faith in me is merited." He says it with that apologetic expression of his."Indeed I imagine my actions have given you little room for any trust to grow."

_Yes because brainwashing my friends into kidnapping me, nearly killing me, and helping torture me always inspires trust. _Again, that is a thought that is best kept only a thought.

"I had thought a direct approach, done with haste would yield the greatest progress in ridding you of this ailment." I'm beginning to like the way he doesn't need my speech to encourage his own... "I was wrong. Those actions have done more to hinder your recovery than promote it. For that I ask your forgiveness." ...Because I have no idea what to say to that.

Except maybe this. "...I-I-I begged you..."

The hint of a smile leaves his expression. "Yes... you did."

"I begged you..." I can feel my pulse picking up at the same time as my breath quickens, my body reacting to the suspicious confusion I'm feeling. "I begged you every time."

The sadness in his eyes turns to sympathy and the hand that not long ago found itself busy with the furs he gave me comes up in a gentle gesture, as if he forgot it would frighten me. _I did not._

Before those fingers can even come close enough to brush so much as my hair I have backed away. He made no effort to stop my retreat either. The hand that had been reaching lingers in the air for a moment, before drifting back down to his side. The only change in his expression is that its intensity grows.

He looks at me with those eyes, a shade I've only ever seen in gemstones. He looks at me with pity. "I will not hurt you Arnora. Not again."

Even while letting my feet put a few more steps between him I am shaking my head, my arms crossing once again over my chest in a protective manner. I go so far as to fist the fur between my fingers. "I don't believe you."

Those words are spoken in a soft weary voice. It's weary because the 'Loki' I've come to know would be angered by those words, and I'm waiting for that 'Loki' to reappear. I don't know this man in front of me, or what to expect from him and in the spirit of defying my expectations, he does it again.

His gaze drifts from mine and it does so in a way I distrust. His expression looks like those words stung him, as if they even make him ashamed. His eyes drift lower and his head follows, hanging there for a moment before he lifts it to face me again. "That is your right."

_My-my right?! _Did he really just say that? _Yes...he did._ There's no question about it when I check his eyes, and 'that' is something my mind isn't cruel enough to imagine on its own.

Bring my hands up higher and tighter than before. I can feel my fingernails digging into the back of my hand as another shaky breath escapes my lungs. "Stop it..."

"Stop? What would you have me stop?" The confusion in his tone when he plays dumb just makes me more upset.

"This!" My breath is coming now in short heavy huffs while my eyes remain fixed on his, almost pleading. "Whatever this is... This..." For a moment I try to think of a better word, but then settle on what came to mind first. "...Game. What ever it is, you don't need to do it. Just stop it, please."

The silence stretches as my eyes continuing to ask even if my voice doesn't, and for a moment he holds my gaze. Then his eyes pull away, his head shaking softly in disappointment. "I have truly earned that reaction, haven't I?"

Seeing as the first attempt failed I tried again, with my tone more earnestly than before. "Please Loki..." But he cuts me off, both with his voice and his steps. "Shh, hush now..."

My brief retreat gives him a second of pause before he resumes his approach but now he does so slower, with more purpose to his steps. His left hand finds purpose too, wrapping around a narrow box that had been on the table and casually sliding it off as he moves farther from the table. "...You have no need to plead for anything."

I just huff, the sound mixed with half a sob and shake my head again. I want to tell him that I don't believe him again, but it's pointless because he already knows it. He'll only hush me again as he just did.

I want to retreat farther as well, as far away as I can. I know that is pointless too. I haven't bumped into it yet, but I know the tall back of that chair is only maybe a few inches behind me and it's not like I can really get away from him anyhow.

"You're so very frightened of me..." Again his voice is soft and gentle as his eyes look over, taking in my timid body language before coming back up to my eyes. "...My words are only lies in your ears now."

I don't say anything to deny it, there wouldn't be a point. The attempt might please him, but he would see right through it. _I was never a good liar anyway._ So I remain silent, even when it draws a sound of disappointment from him.

"I've earned your lack of trust..." He starts like he had, the words very similar to the ones he used earlier. There is a pause before he continues. It is filled with his fingers so lightly moving a lock of my hair away from my eyes. He is very careful about it. He even takes into account my initial jerk and the tense shivering that follows. Never once does his skin come close enough to brush mine. "...And nothing I say now can convince you, I know this."

I had turned my head away from him in my attempt to avoid his touch, and even though it failed I have yet to turn it back to face him. My refusal to look at him only led to me being startled again, and this time my back has bumped the chair. As his hand left my eye level I felt something else touch my hands, and I reacted before I could identify what it was.

It wasn't skin. It wasn't even part of his clothing. It was the edge of a cardboard box. The narrow one he slid off the table that had been next to the serving tray. "But perhaps with time, my actions will fare better?" he speaks on, my attention moving quickly back to his smiling expression. "Take it, it is a gift."

It is a plain box made of sturdy cardboard. It has no marking or logos on it anywhere I can see, just a white satin ribbon wrapped around the middle of it and knotted into a perfect bow. There is nothing about the box itself that promotes distrust. Only the fact I do not know what is inside and that it is from him.

My hesitation to accept it shows in both my expression and the fact I haven't taken a hold of it. Just as his shows in the brief tugging of a smirk on his lips and yet another soft sigh. "I see even my gifts are to be suspected now. Very well."

His hands, which had never actually let go of the box reclaim it completely now. Holding it in one hand the other begins the task of untying the ribbon, a task that only takes a brief tug. The ribbon droops casually, still suspended from its trip to the floor by the placement of his other hand. He takes a moment to glance up at me with yet another smirk, one that promises what he seems to think will a pleasant surprise for me before he starts to remove the lid itself. I can't say I share that opinion, I find the idea of his surprises more frightening than pleasant. Just like I find his gifts.

It turns out his opinion on my reaction was the right one. I am surprised by what's in the box. When the lid is removed and tucked under his arm I find my eyes full of the sight of emerald silk, cut and sewn into the shape of two very long gloves. But to me they're more than gloves. _They're a chance at peace. _At least until he speaks.

"Will you give me your hands?"

It's phrased as a question, but that's not how I hear it. All I hear is 'give me your hand' and that is what I react to. My arms are back up over my chest in a protective way as I once again test my ability to pass through objects.

"You have nothing to fear..." He continues, completely accepting and not at all offended by my reaction. "I will not hurt you. I will not even make the effort to touch your skin." He promises with words I find hollow as he lifts the box just a few inches closer to me. "I merely wish to see you accept this gift."

My mind is at odds with itself for a minute, torn between two decisions. The first is to not accept the gift. It's not out of rudeness, just that I would be putting myself closer to him to do it. The second thought though is that these gloves would cover my skin, would protect it from his. That is the thought that wins out, but it is still with reluctance.

Gulping I take a deep breath before letting it out in yet another unsuccessful attempt at gathering courage. Still I manage to find enough to look up at his eyes, and nod softly. "O-Okay."

It doesn't make the part of me that still just wants to let him keep it any smaller, but now that I've spoken the words I have to go through with it. My hands are stubborn but untangle themselves slowly at my command and tentatively begin to reach for the box. I don't let my eyes travel away from his hands, except to flit from one to the other.

When they get close enough to claim it there is a tiny moment of jerking, the cause being his own slight movement. But it isn't hostile in any way. He only moved to set it in my hands. As soon as his hands released it and began moving back to his side my own were pulling the box back up to my chest.

It's an action that amuses him, especially when I do nothing after it. "I did not give you it only to take it back." He informs me with a chuckle, the smirk remaining on his lips."Will you wear them? I would very much like to see them on you."

_Like I have a choice._ Though I appreciate the manners he is showing, I still can tell it's only order disguised as a request. It's rather annoying in a way, considering I already had every intention of wearing these. It's why I accepted them after all.

I nod, the motion brisk but shallow at the same time. I would have spoken, but I don't want to risk him hearing so much as an ounce of irritation in my tone.

Releasing the box from my almost protective hold on it I look down at the contents within it. _Well, they are pretty._ I've never been one for fine or fancy thing, plain and simple was just as good to me. But I've always enjoyed a nice pair of gloves. The reason of course is an obvious one. I had no other choice but to wear them, so I saw no problem with spending more to buy the quality made and comfortable ones.

Letting my fingers brush over them I confirm my earlier guess. _They do feel like silk, very fine silk._ Given my captor's apparent taste for the best things though that shouldn't surprise me, and it doesn't.

Glancing up at him with weary eyes for a moment I check to make sure that he hasn't moved, as well as that he isn't going to. My expression must be enough to give away my thoughts because he gives me a reply that fits them. Nodding once he reassures me. "I will remain fixed to this spot my lady."

I may not like the endearment, just as I don't truly believe his words, but I know it's the best I can get. I also know I'm lucky to have even gotten that so I don't push it. Still keeping half an eye on him I turn and move closer to the small desk behind me, setting the box on its surface while I keep the gloves in my hands.

True to his word when I turn back to look at him completely he hasn't moved even an inch from that spot. So true to mine I go through with wearing his gift. It's an action that I am very much aware means more than it seems to be. It's not so much a gift as a peace offering, and the thing about peace offerings is that they come with terms.

They are smooth and soft as I slip my hands into them, my fingers finding their assigned places at the ends and like Loki says. "They look lovely on you."

Not entirely comfortable with the idea of agreeing with him on that I nod instead, but I still give him one of my meek, but polite thank you's. He accepts it with a smile, and lifts his hand again. It is an action that automatically makes me a bit nervous, but is quickly shown to be without cause.

The hand only beckons, it doesn't reach. "Come now though, you should eat before it becomes any colder."

I hadn't forgotten about the food, but it had been pushed toward the back of my thoughts and now has returned to the front. He brought me salmon. Something he knew I would like. _Another peace-offering. _This one too probably comes with terms, but he hasn't given any clues as to what they are. _I'm not sure I want him to either._

Once more he acts like a gentleman and is holding the seat for me, waiting for me to sit in it. It's yet another one of those disguised commands and one I know not to refuse just like the others before. My movement is full of reluctance, but it is a movement just the same, and far too quickly I find myself back next to that chair.

Because I am in the robe still, as well as the nightgown, I have to take the time to arrange it before I sit down. I'm even more reluctant to do that. It's rather silly when thought about logically, but even though I am already standing by him when I sit down I will be a few inches closer. I sit anyway and like the gentlemen he is presenting himself as he pushes my chair. As he does it I can't help but think how close his hands are to my shoulder blades, as well as my neck, even with the robe.

My phobic nature was busy waiting for any one of the dozen things it imagined he would do to me next. None of them happened. Once he had seen the seat to its place he let go of the back of the chair, and with a soft-spoken "I hope you enjoy it" he backed away.

It threw me off guard, enough that I actually turned to check because I expected it to be a trick. But all I saw was his back as he did in fact move farther away. His steps took him over to the desk where he proceeded to put the half of the box he still had with the other, leaving it there before turning back around. When he noticed that I was watching him it drew another chuckle and a smile from him, and left me feeling a bit embarrassed.

Turning back to what's on the table I become much more fascinated with it than necessary. I'm embarrassed by my reaction that much is obvious. But less obvious is the fact that I am also ashamed, confused, and even a little angry with myself. _This man is my captor, why should I care about something so silly, and more importantly, why would I even waste the time to feel that?_

Mentally forcing those thoughts and the memory of my actions down I do a quick study of the dinnerware in front of me. There are three forks, the size and shape varies a bit between them. There are also two knives and two spoons, though one of those is a guess more than a certainty. Two plates are out as well, but only the bigger one has anything on it. The same can be said for the glasses, which resemble goblets more than glasses. It is a very nice set, but it seems too impractical for me.

Not knowing which of the silverware I should use I just decide to use the bigger ones first. With that decision made I move on to the next thing I have to do before I use them, removing the lid from the food. Setting the lid to the side of this massive amount of real silver I look back at what was hiding under it.

It's some kind of pastry sitting in a white dill sauce, which given that I know I heard him say it was salmon left me a bit surprised and confused. At least until my mind made the assumption that the salmon is inside, like some sort of meat pie perhaps.

Taking the largest fork in hand along with the knife I carefully cut through the flaky outer layer and find out my guess was right. Inside the pastry shell I do in fact see the pink flesh of salmon. Resting on top of the fish looks to be a mixture of asparagus, egg and onion with evidence of sauce and seasonings. It looks like a dish that belongs in a five-star restaurant, not a prison cell. _Not that I'm refusing it._

Even with that opinion though I find myself hesitant to eat. I may be hungry, more so now that I can smell the food as well, and for the first time in a while it hasn't involved apples. But hungry or not I still don't trust it. It's something I realize rather quickly doesn't really matter though. If the food is drugged and I don't eat it they can just go back to doing things the way they did before, and if it isn't and I don't eat it then I am just starving myself. I lose either way.

The sigh that comes out sounds a bit frustrated, and for a moment I see his eyes glance up at me past his lashes before returning to the book in his hand. It is an odd sight in my opinion really, seeing him leaning against the arm of the couch with a book in one hand and the other resting on his knee as he sits there reading the Lord of the Rings. An odd sight seeing something so 'normal' from him like I said before, but not one that is odd enough to distract me for very long.

Cutting into the pastry now with more purpose than to see what it was I carve a small piece off, spearing it with the fork carefully before it finally makes its way to my mouth. One last moment of hesitation happens before it is pulled from the fork by the closing of my lips.

It's actually quite delicious. The salmon is soft and moist with a slight smokiness, while the crust has a buttery flavor to it. I can taste the egg and asparagus as well as the onion and dill. Beyond that my taste buds also recognize the flavors of mustard, mayonnaise, cream cheese, lemon and of course salt and pepper. _It is very yummy, considering it's probably a bribe._

I devour it, but in a slow and reserved manner. I don't want to seem overeager, even if my appetite almost tripled with the first taste. My stomach was thrilled at the idea of eating something other than apples, no matter how tasty those apples are. I've always been a fan of food and made a point eat with variety as often is possible, so the diet of fruit got old quickly. Even eating slowly though I find the plate empty far too soon, even of crumbs.

_I wish the crumbs stayed. _Not necessarily because I'm still hungry and somehow I am, but because I was using them to buy more time. "Ah, you've finished I see..." _Time I wish I had now._

Looking up a bit quickly I nod, and force a smile. "Yes. It was delicious. Thank you." the words are honest, but they're spoken more to please him than anything. "I'll just clean this up..." And those words are spoken in an attempt to stall whatever comes next.

They fail at that. "There is no need." The steadiness of my hands does for a moment as well, the small but distinct sound of metal shaking against metal giving me away.

Before my trembling hands can make anymore noise I put the plate and the fork back down on the table, this time I don't judge my embarrassment, I'm too busy trying to seem less frightened.

"Oh little one..." His endearment doesn't help.

Having obviously heard the clattering he looks up, the words on the pages no longer enough to keep his attention as those eyes of his turn their sympathy on me. With a quiet exhalation he closes the book, setting it down next to him on the couch even as he rose to his feet.

_Don't run Nora, just don't run._ I recite to myself in an attempt to stop shaking. It becomes a lot less effective though when I also can't help but realize I have nowhere to run to anyway.

"You stand here awaiting the teeth of a trap..." He comes to a stop near me. The nearness of him makes me uncomfortable but noticing that he has made a point to keep his hands clasped behind his back helps a little. "...That will not fall.

My hands don't rise up to my chest this time, but they are once again busy with the task of squeezing and fisting each other. My head also keeps busy, nodding while my eyes make a point not to drift high enough to meet his own. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean..."

"You don't need to apologize Arnora..." I shudder a bit at that name, swallowing the unwise reply and nod once more. Claiming the edge of my lip in my teeth as I do to make sure nothing foolish can get past it. "...I find no fault in your suspicions. You may choose to believe otherwise, but I only wish to speak with you now."

That sentence is enough to motivate me to meet his gaze again. My head comes up slowly, and the expression in my eyes is full of weariness and reluctance. "Ab-bout w-what...?"

There is that smile again. "About you child. About you."

* * *

Okay. There's the end of chapter nine. Yes, I've left you hanging again. It's what we do, cliffies and all that. But anyways. Thank you to those who did review. The new pictures are up for those who have seen them. (As well is the link to the recipe for what she ate. Lol) The link is in my profile page. Chapter ten is next, and more will be revealed about Nora soon. Possibly really soon.

Questions? Comments? Concerns? Overwhelming amounts of love?! Anything?

Leave a review folks. Please and thank you.


	10. Day 4: part 4

I now give you chapter ten. Once again, I don't own this stuff, with the exception of Nora. Hopefully this chapter explains a bit more about who my crazy coffee maker is. But I don't want to reveal everything right now, that would be no fun. No one wants that. The suspense is good.

Anyways, read on!

* * *

"You... you want to know... about...me?" I say the words slowly and carefully, each spoken like a question all their own. "I thought..."

I don't need to even finish that sentence though, his ability to guess ahead taking care of it for me. "Oh yes, your agent friend was very generous in his knowledge of you, limited though it was." That smile of his stretches across his lips a bit more, and find its way into his eyes is well. "But I am much more interested in the limits of your own knowledge regarding yourself."

_He wants to know... what I know? About myself? _That makes no sense. Anything I know Clint would know is well, and even though I would like to think otherwise I am sure Clint has already told him everything. "I don't understand?"

"Do you not?" He asks, his head tipping to the side in an inquisitive manner with that grin still remaining. Even is he does I find myself tensing up, a small shivering flinch and a turn of my head as his hand comes up. He avoids brushing my skin out of courtesy, letting his fingers only tease a few strands of my hair instead. "Do you really know so little about what you are?"

Those words make me hang my head a bit lower. That has always been a bit of a shameful thing to me, the fact that I can't remember who I was. During the last three years, while I have struggled to overcome my phobia I have also been busy attempting to overcome my amnesia. Attempting being the important word in that sentence.

The incident took away my memory and even now three years later anything I know about the first twenty-three years of my life is from secondhand sources. Not a single memory of my own has returned.

I made the best of it though, living without them and building a new life from scratch. Sure I had Clint and Natasha to fill me in on the things I needed to know. The minor details were left out because S.H.I.E.L.D thought it would be better if I remembered those for myself and I agreed with them on that. But as for the major details like my name and my job, those were things I was reminded of is soon as I woke up.

I never wished I remembered my past is much as I do now. It would make it so much easier to deny his claim that he knows me if I actually had proof that he doesn't.

Because I have no other response to give I find myself shaking my head, whether then saying out loud one of the less pleasant parts of my life.

"The strength you display..." I can't tell from his tone if its mocking or actually genuine, but he sounds in awe is he says the words. "...is astounding."

I have no idea what to say to that potential compliment, and he seems to have no need for a response anyway. He just continues.

"You awoke to the absence of a 'life' and burdened with the perversion of what touch should inspire, yet here you are. " His hand gesture to all of me in a sweeping motion and a look in those eyes that makes my skin want to crawl just a little. "A woman whose spirit has more strength than most warriors, in the service of this world protectors and tasked with filling their cups." That last part is said with a sneer, and so is this. "How wonderfully your captors have treated you."

It's amazing the stupid things loyalty can bring one to do, especially loyalty to one's friends. "They are not my captors. They've treated me better than anyone ever could!"

I knew as soon is those words were out of my mouth that they were a mistake, and his expression only confirmed that.

Expressions are important, I learned that working in S.H.I.E.L.D. There are a lot of things you can figure out just by paying attention to what someones facial features are doing. His for example, are showing anger. The kind of anger that is so intense it almost looks like calm.

The kind that encourages my expression and thoughts to something along the lines of _oh shit. _At least until is suddenly switched.

The anger in his expression transforms into amusement. At first I was too concerned with my screw up to really notice the slight tugging at the corners of his lips. It didn't register till his mouth was in a full-blown grin, and he was chuckling. He even had his knuckles pressed against his lips and his eyes closed he found the situation so amusing.

"Oh my dear one..." Taking a soft but deep breath that ends his chuckle his eyes look back up at mine. "...you have no idea the sins they've committed against you, do you?"

My memory would serve me wonderfully now, if I had it that is. In its absence however my irritation seems to pick up the slack. The idea that he would try to use my misfortune against me is not one I welcome, nor have I ever in the past.

"S.H.I.E.L.D..." I need no explanation on who the 'they' he mentioned is. "...has never 'committed any 'sin' against me..." I make a point of using his own words. "...if anything they've only ever been kind to me."

Its true too, more than true. Kind isn't even a powerful enough word for how well they've treated me. If not for them I might not even be alive today. They may not have been quick enough to prevent the explosion, but they certainly responded quickly enough to rescue me after. _Something they weren't even required to do._

To this day the Council see's that incident is a massive breach of protocol. Two agents were not only made and lost that day, but a few agents went against their orders is well. All for someone whose clearance level wasn't high enough to be an intelligence risk. Clint said screw the Council she's one of ours, an action that Fury unofficially agreed with, and came to get me. He rescued me because, is he put it _"My family is part of S.H.I.E.L.D'S family."_ Or at least they were.

A car bomb took my parents away from, and even though I had the great fortune to be far enough away for it not to kill me it still took my life away. But S.H.I.E.L.D gave me a new life. The Council may have written me off, but I was a 'child of S.H.I.E.L.D' and they take care of their own.

They took care of everything. Doctors to treat the minor burns and broken bones, is well is watching me during my coma. Then when I woke up they gave me psychologists to help me with my phobia and amnesia, and therapy. _Oh there was so much therapy and classes._

So the idea that S.H.I.E.L.D has ever done anything to hurt me in any way is not only absurd but offensive to me. But to him apparently my opinion on that is only amusing.

"Only ever been kind to you have they?" He asks, using my own words this time to form the question. By his tone and expression my faith in my friends is still the joke of the hour.

My expressive face seems to give him enough of an answer yet again. "So you do." The words that follow only aggravate me more. Spoken more in a hush meant more for his ears than mine, he continues. "The greatest of cages are those that exist unseen."

My ears catch it, but my mind disregards it, the wistful yet almost hostile tone in his voice. I can tell that sentence is no longer just about me, I don't care though. I'm more concerned with defending my friends good names.

He doesn't give me the chance to get out more than a few words "But forgive me..." before he shocks me with his own.

His grin both on his lips and in his eyes grows a bit at the look of surprise on my face before calming back down. "...I've begun to turn this conversation into a hostile one. That was not my intention." He pauses making sure he has my attention, those eyes of his making the effort to meet mine. "May we start again?"

While he seems to have a knack for shifting his emotions at the drop of a hat mine don't change quite so quickly. I am still upset by the way he was talking about the people I trust. Thankfully though I am not so upset that they get in the way of my logic. Arguing with him would be a bad idea, I know this. Just like I know that bad ideas are now dangerous idea's too.

It's a reluctant nod that I give him, one that comes out a bit sharply from the lingering irritation, but is still an agreeing nod.

He nods a bit too. One single nod, done very slowly almost is if it was a slight bow. The head lowers and is it does so do his eye lids. Is his head raises itself back up the eyes open again. "Thank you."

I find those words distrustful. All this politeness, I may appreciate it, but it's still suspicious to me. _And uncomfortable. _"May I convince you to take a seat?"

His gesture, a small wave of one of his hands in the direction of the couch goes along with those words. Its meaning is obvious and needs no explanation. The look in my eyes must be is well.

His eyes drift closed again with a small exhale as his lips pull briefly into a tight line. "My apologies, you're right, it is too soon for such familiarity."

Those words make me even more uncomfortable because of the promise hidden within him. They tell me something very important, something that I have guessed at already, but still like to avoid thinking about. He plans to keep me for a very long time, a long enough time for 'familiarity' to form.

His voice pulls my attention back from those thoughts before he notices, or at least notices enough to bring it up. "Please though if you would take a seat, any you wish..."He adds quickly to reassure me. "...there is no need to stand for this conversation. It will likely be a lengthy one."

Again the reminder of time bothers me. Not that I had any delusions of it being a short one. It's just I would prefer not to think about how long I've been here, or how long I'll be here.

I'd also whether avoid giving him a reason to take back the option to sit where I wish. Nodding again, this time briskly I let my eyes look around. It isn't is if there is a lot of options available to me though, and I end up choosing the chair I was in before. It's a decision made mostly on the fact that it is the farthest away.

The distance is a short one, made even shorter by the quickness in my steps. Reaching the chair and turning it to face him I take another moment before I get into it, arranging the robe, so it doesn't tug at my shoulders when I do sit down.

That done I waste no more time getting back into it. How I sit this time though is different than before. I refuse to pull my knees back up under my chin because I don't want to give him the impression of weakness if I can avoid it. I choose to keep them on the floor this time, with a layer of the robe between the cement and the soles of my feet to lessen the cold.

Now with that done and my eyes focusing on him once again I realize my decision might have been a mistake. See the thing about this lovely chair is that it has sides. Three sides in fact, a tall back and two arms that are also tall in their own right. That leaves only the front open and easily an exit. Unless one were to decide to pull up a chair and sit there, much like he is doing.

He doesn't position the dining chair right in front of the one I choose, he was considerate enough to leave several feet between us. It doesn't change to the fact though that it is still close enough that if I decided to get out of the chair the regular way I would have to move almost right into him to do it.

_I have no intention of being pathetic enough to crawl over the back of this thing just to get away from him._ The gleam in his eye lets me know he is aware of this and is taking advantage of at the moment is well.

Not that having an idea of what he is doing or why has made any difference yet, just like it's not making a difference now. "I would like to know who you are Arnora. Will you let me?"

_Now I'm officially confused? _He wants to know about me? That doesn't make sense when it's already been pretty clear he's been quite informed."Clint and Erik...?"

His voice cuts in and finishes the sentence for me. "...Have, as I said, been quite informative. But their knowledge of you is limited."

That doesn't make any sense either. If anyone's knowledge is limited it is my own. Clint is one of the few people who knows all about me. When he became my guardian he was given access to files about my past that even I'm not allowed to see, and he knew me and my parents anyway. _If anyone's knowledge is limited, sad to say, it's mine. _"I... don't understand?"

He nods softly, an action that lets me know he both expected that response and accepts it. "I am more interested..." He pauses, a somber, but sincere looking smile claiming his lips. "...in the knowledge only you have. I am interested in 'your' memory's."

_Oh..._ Realizing now what he meant I can't help but feel the shame return. Turning my head away from his gaze again I take a deep breath, gulping softly before letting it out."I don't have any."

"Oh, now I don't believe that." Those words snap my attention back, turning my sadness into shock instead.

He reads my reaction again before I can actually respond."Pardon me, I did not mean to accuse you of deceit." He read it right too. "Let me clarify. You may not recall events, but there is so much to memory then that."

He is right, now that I know what he means. I've heard of people with amnesia that despite having lost their memory's still enjoying the taste of certain foods, even thought they can't recall why or when they tasted it. The same can be said for liking colors, or all sorts of things. "Not for me..."

Proving Clint really did fill him he asks "So it is true then?" instead of the 'excuse me?' I usually get when I tell people that.

With a lot of people who suffer from amnesia they still remember things. Nothing big and specific like events or things they did in the past, but smaller things. Things like to smell of their favorite food or that there were roses somewhere they used to go. For me it was different. I don't even have that.

When I woke up I woke up with absolutely nothing. It was like the first two decades of my life never happened. Like instead of being born the universe created me right there in that hospital bed, already grown into the body of a woman. It was kind enough to leave me with my intelligence though. I was able to think, function and communicate just like anyone else. But that was the only thing it left me with.

It has always been a sore spot for me, but one I became very good at dealing with when it came up, and it hasn't for a while. In the beginning not a lot of the agents and personnel at .S.H.I.E.L.D knew about my condition, so I had to explain it quite often. While it never really lost its sting I got used to it. But now having to tell it to him the sting has not only returned, but I think its even grown a bit.

I don't look away again, keeping my face turned towards him, but even without doing that my eyes aren't quite looking into his. They've settled for looking right below them, at his cheeks instead. "Yes...its true." I let my eyes close briefly for this part. "I don't remember 'anything' from that life."

Looking back in his direction with my eyes open once again I notice the soft tug of a smile on his face. "No memory of it..." He pauses long enough for me to confirm it with a nod. "...but the ones they've given you."

I can hear the accusation in the words even without the tone to back it up, and look back up at him with only seriousness in mine. "I trust them."

I find myself lucky again. Whatever game he is playing at it seems that his remaining calm and kind to me is part of it, even if I expect otherwise.

His smile turns into a grin, the corner of his lip tugging momentarily is he nods shallowly at me again. "Yes, I imagine you would as they have, is the saying goes, been good to you."

If I had a reply to that I'm not given the chance to speak it, not that I planned one anyways. "While their capacity may have been meager, they did in fact treat you far better than I would have expected of them. Something even I must acknowledge."

_While that's a surprise. _He just complimented S.H.I.E.L.D. In a sort of backwards and indirect way, but he did it just the same.

"They were good to me because I'm one of them?" It comes out sounding like a question, but not because it is one. It's just I am still a bit puzzled by his last statement.

"Yes..." He says, his smile becoming a bit broader is he agrees with me. "...you are one of them. Now."

It fades back a bit is well though is a shake my head. "No, not just now. I was then too."

The intensity of it returns, but the smile takes on a slightly different tone. "Can you confirm that?"

With that sentence it suddenly becomes perfectly clear which angle he is going to use this time, instead of the suspicion it was before. It only makes me more annoyed, because even if I hate him for it I have to admit it's a good angle. Nothing I say will be convincing enough for him not to have a counter.

But I argue it anyway, because what else can I do. "They showed me the records."

While my words were spoken with a slight sharpness and a bite, his are calm if not a bit sarcastic. "Ah yes, they are so very fond of laying words to paper. And this organization is so reputed for their honesty in all things."

I want to tell him that they had video's to back it up. There were articles in the local newspapers about the explosion. They had documents of all kinds, records of medical history and education as proof. There were birth certificates and death certificates is well. They had all kinds of evidence to tell me who I was when I woke up.

But none of it will win me this argument. I know because in the beginning I doubted it too.

No one ever blamed me for that though, it would be unreasonable to do it. I mean, I woke up terrified and had no idea who I was let alone where I was or how I got there. Then I had people I didn't know telling me I was a name I didn't remember, and part of a top-secret government organization.

It took at least a week before I started to believe them. I was suspicious, is anyone in that situation would be. But slowly it began to fade away, little acts of kindness by little acts of kindness. My worry that these people wanted to hurt me couldn't stand up to those things.

Like when Clint and after a while Natasha too, would stay in my room so long that they fell asleep in the chair guarding me. Clint was assigned as my bodyguard until the people responsible for putting me in the hospital in the first place were dealt with, in case they decided to finish the job. Natasha eventually joined the effort because Clint took it so seriously. _Much more seriously than he needed to. _He kept protecting me even after they got them.

There were other things too, things that had nothing to do with orders. Clint caught me humming once. It was some song I can't remember now that I had heard one of the orderlies singing. After that he brought in a CD player, and began educating me on the cultural importance of Pat Benatar. It was the same thing with food, both he and Nat would bring me treats so I didn't have to suffer through hospital food. When it became clear how much I liked rediscovering what tasted good they made a point to get creative with what they brought in.

These were all things that went above and beyond following orders. These were the gestures of people who knew me and cared about me. It didn't take me long to realize something, something that is still true now. I don't need proof that they're telling the truth, I just need to trust that they are.

It is that trust that makes me say something that could potentially get me into a great deal of trouble, and even reverse his decision to be so nice. But one I can't resist. "I don't need proof to know the truth. They're my friends, my people, and I have much more of a reason to believe them than you."

This time the irritation in his face is much more than just an annoyance. It is anger, that calm flat sort of anger, and it gives no indication of fading.

My decision to not climb over the back of the chair comes up for a vote again in my head, but isn't given enough time to act on even if I wanted to. His body rises from the chair abruptly, and before I can even make an attempt to get away his hands have claimed their positions, is far back on the arms of the chair is they can get.

My reaction of course is to try to convince the chair either to eat me or let me pass through it, unfortunately it doesn't seem to feel like either. Which leaves me in the awkward and the nerve-wracking position of wanting to push him away, but unable to bring myself to touch him is he slowly leans in closer is I wait for him to hit me or something.

"Ohhh..." I stiffen up with a small whimper, inspired just by the feel of his cool breath puffing against my skin and rustling the furs. "...my dear Arnora, how I love the way you test me."

The quick shallow pant that my breath has become is strong enough to make my body shudder along with it. I imagined it would happen eventually, me saying the wrong thing. It finally did. I don't know if it will make a difference now, but I let out a tiny "I'm sorry I'm sorry..." anyways.

It doesn't make him pull away though, his face still remains very close to mine. I may have my eyes clenched shut and my cheek turned to him, but I can still tell he is close with the way his breath is rolling over my skin. His next bout of speech is led in by a small whimper with the first sound.

"I would give you tokens and boons..." There is a pause, but what he does to fill it I'm not sure is I don't dare open my eyes. "...But you want them not. You never did."That part is finished in a different tone. It lacks the hostility his voice had a moment before and is filled with memory.

The air around me suddenly shifts, and the sound of rustling clothes fills the silence. But it isn't until the sound of boot heels joining it that I let myself breath again. The sound of those heels is moving away from me.

Letting my eyes open they are greeted by the sight of the sight of an empty dining chair, and his body standing near the door. The fact that he already has a hand on it makes his plans to leave the room all the more obvious.

It's a relief to me, that he is standing over there. I know however not to accept it until it actually happens. Experience with him has taught me that, and it's proving true again is he hasn't opened the door.

He speaks instead, but the words are spoken more to the exit then me and his head is even hanging a bit is they come out. "I will need more than words to convince you...no, to remind you who you are. But perhaps these words might encourage my prospects."

I can see the hint of grin tug at his lips before he continues. "...I will not repent..." The sound of the latch clinking and the bolt turning are the only sounds that follow his exit.

He leaves me sitting in that chair, wide-eyed and breathing heavily but slowly, unable to take my gaze of the door. _Those words?! How did he...?!_

* * *

Well there's ten for you. Hope you liked it. Is for those who wanted some different POV's I have it in the works, but I have to get the story to that point first so please be patient. Loki and the things he does are complicated and take more than a chapter to get to, but don't worry, he is still a manipulative jerk I promise.

Read and review please. It adds new steps to my happy dance every time.


	11. Day 4: part 5

The usual things go here. I don't own Marvel or the Avengers. Dammit all, I wish I did, there would be a new movie every week. Lol. Anyways. Here is chapter 11, hope you like it.

* * *

_...I will not repent..._ He spoke those words, but I thought them. I heard those words, in my own voice and in my head. But I only thought those words. I never spoke them, least of all to Clint. I never told him about that dream.

I've been having them lately, strange dreams while I sleep and odd flashes of things when I'm awake. They don't make sense to me, these 'memories' in my head. I know why that is though. The doctors explained it to me. It is memories trying to return, but they're only fragments and likely scattered distant ones that have nothing to do with each other. So they make no sense because there is no sense to them.

That still doesn't explain how he knows those words. Words that I heard myself say in a dream.

I don't put any stock in the dream being an actual memory, I'm well aware it's probably just a bunch of small things thrown to gather, and my mind in its attempt to find logic in its transformed it into something that looks like one.

In the 'dream' I'm standing out on a bridge, it's a beautiful bridge but one my waking mind knows is just a fantasy. _After all they don't make bridges like that._ Not ones that look like there are made of glass and with almost nothing to support it. Even stranger than the gravity defying nature of this bridge is that it seems to glow. Though its shifting variety of colors make a bit more sense when I add in the fact that the sun was rising in this dream.

Beyond the bridge there is even more to awe at. Well I mentioned the presence of the sun in this dream it was not the only thing in the sky, the stars were there too. Even what looked like close planets somehow ended up in my dream.

Then there was below the bridge. Under this strange support I can hear water. Waves to be exact, crashing waves. There was an ocean under my feet, and it was a lively one. I could smell the salt in the air and even feel it in the morning mists. The sound of the sea birds was mixed right in with the heartbeat of the waters under me. _No...under us..._

I wasn't alone in this dream, on this bridge. There was someone behind me. Several someones I think, but I'm not sure. I never turned around to check. I wouldn't give them the pleasure.

All this beauty around me, yet all I feel in that dream is hatred and sorrow. I'm angry, very angry in this strange mash of memory. So angry that I want to kill something, slowly and tortuously. A desire that quite honestly frightens me. I'm not a violent person. _I'm a glorified feather pillow, and I'm okay with that._

I know the world is a dangerous and violent place. I work for S.H.I.E.L.D, I understand that. I get that sometimes you have to hurt people, but that doesn't mean I like doing it. So my wish to not only see someone bleed, but feel it on my hands, hear it in their screams, taste it on my tongue and even smell it in the air terrifies me.

It scares me almost is much is the sorrow I feel in this dream. It's not just sorrow. It's the heartbreak, the kind that shatters people like glass and grinds them into dust. Its hopelessness. Complete and utter hopelessness.

It always stopped there, I always woke up there with the answer to a question I can't remember still echoing in my head. _I will not repent._

I never brought it up to Clint, or anyone really. When the first flashes started I of course told my therapist. She listened, and we talked about it. She always gave me suggestions is to what it might mean. Like the fact I was recalling salt water and cliffs probably had to do with the fact that my family came from Maine. But along with her suggestions is to what the details in my dream meant she always encouraged me to decipher them on my own. _After all who better to translate the meaning of memory's than the person they belonged to?_

So that's what I started doing. I started trying to figure them out on my own, without other people's input to influence my conclusions. This meant that I didn't really talk about them until I had riddled them out.

I had been working on trying to puzzle it out, something Clint was aware of. Is my guardian, a role he never really did quit, he always tried to stay informed. I was more than okay with telling him about them too. Especially since there was a no pressure approach he had about it. Sure he wanted to know, but he never pressed me. Like up on the perch in the lab, when I had another of my headaches he knew exactly what that was, but he didn't ask.

_So if Clint didn't know how did he?_ Try is I might I can't come up with a convincing explanation. I've tried telling myself things like he just got lucky and said the right random sequence of words. But I know that's bullshit. I mean, he even had the tone and the tempo right. Other than it being his voice and not mine he matched it perfectly.

Letting out a groan of frustration I fist my hands and resting the heels of my palms over my eyes. Still keeping my eyes closed I shift the position. Lifting my head a little my fists uncurl and my fingers now rest over my face, the middle fingers resting on either side of my nose."Come on Nora, you're a smart girl. Figure this out." _If you figure this out he can't use it against you._

The sudden appearance of a 'knock, knock' knock' and my small startled yelp that follows kind of puts an end to my brain storm though.

"Nora?!" the concerned voice that comes through the door before its hinges groan opens chases away the moment of fright, replacing it with relief. _It's Erik._

Now it goes without question that Erik is still a loyal if not devote follower of Loki, and therefor is not on my side. Despite that though, he is one of the people I look forward to seeing the most. Out of all the people who usually come into this room he is the one who has done nothing to hurt me. Even when following Loki's orders and drugging me he made sure to be is gentle is he could with me, and is quick is he could be is well. _It may not be much, but it's better than nothing._

"Nora, darling are you alright..." He asks is he hurry's into the room, only pausing to shut the door with his free hand. "I thought I heard you cry out?"

Even brainwashed he is as kind and caring as ever. A fact that lifts my spirits while making me want to cry a bit at the same time. "Yes, yes I'm fine. You just startled me." I say softly is I blink back the tears threatening to form before he can notice.

Leaving the door he makes his way over to the table to set the tray he is carrying down, but on the way catches hold of the out-of-place dinning chair and drags it with him. No doubt to put it back in place.

"Probably expecting that soulless freak again I bet." He says with a chuckle is he arranges the things on and around the table, not yet turning to face me.

He was never particularly fond of Clint, even before this. Is the lead scientist to such a top-secret project .S.H.I.E.L.D had him under surveillance. He was never thrilled with that fact but understood the reasoning behind it, It bothered him more that his surveillance was an assassin.

I can't really blame him, or anyone for not liking Clint because of that. Being a professional killer doesn't exactly promote trust or friendly relations, especially among people with no combat training.

Even my relationship with Clint had its rough patches because of that. Being best friends with an assassin has its own brand of challenges that come with it. If I hadn't known Clint as the man who protected me and went out of his way for me before I knew Clint as the assassin I probably wouldn't be comfortable around him either.

I was lucky enough to see there's a lot more to him than the end of an arrow. I became friends with him, something not many people can claim they did. He is my friend. _'Is' not 'was'. _That's something I keep telling myself, hoping and praying for it to become true. That's why even if he might not deserve it I feel the need to defend his name each time.

"Erik." The tone comes out gentle, but with enough scolding in it for him to understand.

Catching the disapproval in my tone I can see his shoulders stiffen up before he turns around. His entire posture looks like someone who got caught swiping a cookie. "Sorry Nora. Forgot you like that man." He rubs the back of his head a bit sheepishly, messing up his hair in the process but he doesn't seem to notice. "For the life of me though I can't see how a sweet girl like you could find anything to like in a man like that."

I shrug weakly, my heart not really in the motion. I've had this conversation with him, before he was Loki's and after. I've had it with others too. They all said the same thing. They didn't understand how a woman so kindhearted, and full of life could stand the company of someone like Clint. They all got the same answer, not that they really ever believed it. Though the current situation has changed the answer I give now a little. "Clint isn't so bad, when he is being... Clint."

"If you say so" He says with a tone and expression that lets me know he doesn't believe it for a second. After having said that though he seems to suddenly remember that he didn't come in here to talk about my taste in friends.

"Oh, but enough about that..." I frown a little at the emphasis he gives the word that, but let it go. "You must be hungry." He says, moving out-of-the-way to reveal what's on the tray he brought in.

He is correct, I am actually hungry. The salmon pastry was delicious, but it did very little to lessen my appetite. The fact that Loki sent more food for me is nice, but the contents leave a bit to be desired. "Apples..."

"Oh, no. These are more than just 'apples'..." His face lights up despite my unenthusiastic tone, or maybe because of it. "These are Idunn's apples!" He says it with the excitement of someone who discovers you don't know something, and has the privilege of explaining its wonders to you. "They're very special."

I chuckle a little at his enthusiasm, and it wins me over. Ignoring my tongues desire for something with a bit more variety I agree with my stomachs simpler desire to be full. Giving a nod of agreement I give into his urging for me to eat and hold out my cupped hands.

Taking my phobia into consideration and understanding why my hands are held the way they are he moved his hand over mine and lets go of the fruit, allowing the apple to land in their grasp. Taking hold of it and adjusting its position into one hand I look up at him again and smiles."Thank you."

"No need for that." He just chuckles in that good mannered way of his, and waves it off with a grin. "Now go on, eat up before I have to make you."

From anyone one else, whether I was in a situation like this or not those words would be inappropriate. Because it's him however there innocent, even here. Ever since I met Erik a year ago he has taken almost a family attitude toward me, like an uncle or a grandfather.

He would always take the time to chat with me when we ran into each other, and even went so far is to make sure I was eating or getting plenty of sleep. When I told him that it wasn't necessary he just chuckled and told me it would be a shame to let a rare beauty like me work herself to death in a place like this. He then laughed at my bashful blush before informing me that the age difference was a bit too wide for his standards and I had nothing to worry about.

It eventually became a regular thing, him scolding me for not taking care of myself, whether or not I hadn't. When I got assigned to the P.E.G.U.S.A.S complex along with him it developed into an almost daily thing. I even brought him lunch on occasion, something he scoffed at. His excuse was I needed the food more than he did, and my attentions were better spent on younger men than some old goat.

When I tried to turn his own argument against him in jest, telling him is was the job of the younger generation to take care of the older one he made it very clear that when he was actually old we could talk about it. These conversations were full of humor, and usually ended with us splitting the food I brought for him.

I imagine this time will be no different. Taking the apple with a knowing smirk I began polishing the already shiny red skin again the material of the robe. But while I do that I notice that even though there are a few apples on the tray he isn't making any attempt to take one. "Aren't you going to eat?"

For a moment he looks confused by that question, until his eyed drift over to the apples and realization changes his expression. There is something else that appears there, or at least I think there was. It was only a split second and in the middle of his features shifting, but for that half of a second I could have sworn he looked afraid. A notion that if true leaves me frightened is well.

"These?!" He says it a bit surprised, but with a chuckle is well. The tone and impression of it his usual almost grandfatherly one. "Oh no dear, I couldn't possibly eat those." Before I can speak the question in my mind he adds. "We're not allowed to."

"You're not allowed to?" I ask, my suspicion of the fruit in my hand growing again. The red color of it looks more and more wicked with each second. "Why not?"

The tone in my voice catches his attention and ceases his ramble before he continues. "Why not? Because there for you o..." He pauses, his mind still sharp enough beyond whatever been done to it to figure out my concern. "...Ohhh... You think they are drugged?"

I let my head bob in a yes, one brief shallow nod is I keep my eyes fixed on him. Eyes that widen a bit at his reaction to my concern.

He laughs. Not mockingly or anything like that, but too loud and hearty to count is a chuckle. "Oh heavens no. We'd never do that." He says before he calms down, and then proceeds to make me stiffen up. "Not when these work much quicker." He informs me as he pulls a syringe from his pocket.

Seeing that needle has my mind recalling all the times I've felt it too. Needles have always been a frightening thing to me is well, for two reasons. One being that someones hands need to touch you and be close to you to use it, and the other one is that I just hate them. Just like I hate anything that has to do with hospitals. It is a controllable dislike but a strong one all the same.

Erik noticing my nervous reaction immediately apologizes is he shoves in back in his pocket. "Oh, no, no, no. You don't need to worry Nora. We aren't doing that anymore. Loki said so himself." His smile only grows at the mention of that man's name, is if Loki's name is some sort of divine thing. _And to him it probably is._

The first few treatment sessions they gave me I tried to convince Erik to help me. But it didn't take long for the truth of my reality to sink in. While he was sympathetic and apologetic for causing my distress he never stopped, all because 'Loki said so'. My feelings and friendship with him no longer meant a thing in the face of his puppeteers' words, and they still don't now.

Now that the needle is in a less threatening location I force the tension back out of my body. Looking up I give him my own apologetic nod."Sorry Erik, I didn't mean to..."

"Oh..." He just grins and waves it off. "...no need for that. Now go on, eat."

His urging draws my attention back to the weight of the object in my hand. Lifting it up slowly to my inspection I am once again impressed on how perfect the fruit looks. There's not a blemish on it. But that isn't my concern at the moment. Pulling my eyes reluctantly from the apple I look back at him over it. "You never told me why?"

"Why...?" His voice sounds a bit confused for a second until his mind reminds him of my earlier question. "Oh, yes. You wanted to know why we can't eat them right?"

I nod, my eyes almost wanting to look back at the apple is the red orb in the bottom of my vision becomes larger for a second.

"Well that's easy..." He says it with another one of his chuckles. "There for you and Loki. Why waste such amazing fruit on us. Especially when he only has so many."

_Oh, well I guess that makes sense._ I had assumed something a bit more sinister than it just being a limited supply, but now that I think about it that seems logical. I mean they keep telling me that these apples are very rare, so it wouldn't be like he can just get them on the corner.

Then though all my attention shifts back to concern with a few words, but not for me. "Besides, it's not like we have the time to eat anyway."

The apple suddenly feels like a lead weight in my hand, and soon leaves it. Falling numbly out of my fingers to the floor. I can hear it hit the floor, just like I can see Erik's eyes widen at the sight of its fall. It looks like he is watching a horrible accident about to happen but knows he won't be able to do anything to stop it.

While his concern is fixated on a piece of fruit my own is only on him. Is his body moves to rescue the apple from its bouncing roll across the floor mine is busy moving to intercept his arm. An action that shocks us both for a second.

"Nora you...?!" This time for once I'm the one cutting someone off. Still gripping onto the elbow of his sleeve with my gloved fingers I speak."Don't worry about the apple, tell me what you said?"

He is still fixated on the fruit. "But Nora the..."

"I don't care about the apple! ..." My sharp tone shocks him enough to focus. That done it comes back down to its usual level. "...the apple can wait. Please tell me what you said Erik. Please?"

Seeing that it means a lot to me he nods and does is I ask. "We're not allowed to eat..." He informs me, along with something else that horrifies me a little more. "I thought you knew that dear?"

"You're not... allowed... to eat?!" I ask, still not able to really believe my ears are hearing this. He nods, looking for all the world confused by my reaction. Which only makes it worse.

I feel disgusting and sick at the thought. I've been in here, dining on fancy food every time I wake up, and they aren't even allowed to eat. _They? Erik said we? Who is the 'we'... _Before I can verbalize the question I get another disgusting bit of news. "We don't have time to eat or sleep, we're too busy."

_Oh god, to go without food 'and' rest..._ I may not have an exact count on how long I've been here because I have no means to tell time, especially while I was unconscious, but I am sure it's been at least a couple of days. I also didn't really have a desire to know, but now I have to."How long has this been going on?"

For a moment it looks like he is not going to answer the question, his expression looking unsure and is if he is trying to avoid it. But when I take a breath to ask again he relents and gives me the answer. "It's been about five days I think."

"Five..." _A week, it's been nearly a week since I was taken._ That thought is disturbing, but not so much because of my time here."...days..." I'm a prisoner here, I know that. But I also know I'm a very well-kept prisoner. Loki has withheld nothing from me, with the exception of my freedom.

_But to do this to his own men... _"We, you said we. Who is 'we'?" I ask, silently begging my suspicion isn't correct.

Again he looks reluctant to answer. But the look of concern and the feel of my fingers tightening around his sleeve convinces him. Hanging his head a little he shakes it with a chuckle. "You always did care so much about your killer."

"You and Clint..." I say letting my fingers slip free of his shirt and sway back to my side. "Just you and Clint..."

It wasn't meant is a question, but Erik took it is one. His mind now to innocent and awe-struck with everything to really understand. "Yes. I'm in charge of the scientist, and he is in charge of security. We don't have time to take breaks."

I chuckle a little at that, but is not a happy one. Its bordering an a heartbreaking one. "Oh Erik..." I whisper out his name behind my fist, trying to hide my quivering smirk while the rest of my face is tense trying to hold back the tears. Erik may not see it, but I do. This isn't about productivity. If it was he would treat the others the same, something that hasn't been said out right, but I figured out anyway. He is only doing this to Clint and Erik, not to make them more productive, but to punish them. Them being not only Clint and Erik, but also SHIELD. _He is killing them._

"Nora?! Oh Nora don't cry." He try's to comfort me, handing me a cloth napkin to dry my eyes with. The sweet gentle gesture makes me laugh and breaks my heart all the more. It makes him more flustered is well.

Before he can try to find something else to make me feel better I suck it up, managing to get a hold of myself at last. Wiping the tears away I get his attention. "Erik...Erik I'm okay."

Hearing my voice he pauses in his search, setting back down on the vanity with looks to be a perfume bottle and turning to look at me. I can tell by his expression he isn't entirely convinced. "Are you sure? I hate to see you sad."

That gets another chuckle from me, and prompts a smile from him. Rising from his lean he abandons the vanity and comes to a stop in front of me, each of us smiling now. Though both seem genuine only his really is, but mine still looks convincing enough to fool him. "You're so much prettier when you're happy."

I take the compliment with a thank you, however my mind is on other things, like finding proof in his face to back up his words. I hadn't noticed before because right from the beginning whatever Loki did to him make him look tired. Both he and Clint had bags around their eyes, probably from the glow in their eyes. But now the bags are darker, and heavier. It's even in his pupils, they are wider than they should be, and his eyes are blood shoot. His skin gives me evidence too. He is paler, in a pasty unhealthy way. There is even a grayish tint to his color.

"Are you sure I can't get you anything?" He asks me, looking down at me with an expression I always enjoyed and would now if not for the color in his eyes.

My first reaction is to tell him no, it is not the reaction I give him though. My peace of mind and comfort is a luxury I no longer want, not if its killing my friends. "Yes." I close my eyes telling myself I have to do this. "I want to... talk to... 'Him'."

* * *

Okay, chapter 11 for all you wonderful folks. I know it wasn't the different POV I told you was coming, but rest assured that is on its way.

Well you know the drill. Leave a review and tell me what you think and or want and I'll get back to you.


	12. Day 4: part 6

Don't own Loki (Dammit all... Though that's probably actually a good thing since my mind is screwed up enough is it is without the influence of a magic stick) or anything to do with Marvel. Woe is me. Anyways, disclaimer aside... I realize I kind of skimped on the details at the end of chapter 11, sorry about that. I'll try not to do that again, but I was tired when I finished that chapter.

Okay, now on to the reading.

* * *

When I told Erik I wanted to talk to Loki his face lit up with a grin and he wasted no time departing to retrieve the man holding his strings.

Is soon is that door closed I wanted to take back my decision. I wanted to tell Erik I changed my mind and ask that he do anything but bring man to see me. I'm afraid to see him again, especially given that he seemed less than happy with me when he left. Though with the way his moods switch I can never be sure.

I resist that urge though. It's a selfish urge. One that I don't have the time for anymore, or the right. I couldn't live with myself if I just knowingly stood by while he slowly drives my 'friends' to their deaths. No matter what Clint did he doesn't deserve that, and Erik deserves it even less.

I'm pacing the room, doing a loop in the space that was left empty in the middle of the room. My feet are motivated to move by my nerves, but also my anger. I'm angry at myself. These are my friends, but I was too preoccupied worrying about myself to notice that they were suffering too. Even is I think that though I know I'm being a bit unreasonable and harsh in my judgment. I was terrified and desperate, more than a so-called normal person would be. Anyone would say I had a good reason not to notice, but it doesn't change that I was too busy thinking about myself.

The groan of metal on metal makes my feet stop moving, tricking them into thinking they weigh tons instead of pounds. It convinces my eyes too that the pock marks on the floor are the most interesting thing in the world.

Unfortunately it doesn't convince my ears to find something else fascinating. They still focus on the sound of his voice. "The scientist came to me with something very interesting..."

There is a brief pause is he stepped into the room, the sound of those hinges and the latch clicking into place lets me know the door has closed."...He informed me that you requested my presence." His tone is one of curious disbelief. "Is this true?"

_Be brave Nora. Your friends need you to be brave._ I've recited that in my head this whole time, but the words haven't produced is much effect is I had hoped they would. It's probably because the people I'm trying to be protect are the people who always protected me. Up until this happened I never even considered the possibility that it could ever change.

Taking one last breath I try to steady my voice. It doesn't really succeed though, my "Yes" coming out at the end of a shuddering breath. I make another attempt at it afterward. Swallowing nervously I take a deep breath and wet my lips before continuing. "Can we please talk?"This time my voice is steadier.

There is the familiar clicking of his boot heels is he steps closer to me. They pause, stopping just within the edge of my vision. The reason for it becomes clear quickly is his hand also appears on the edge of my vision, retrieving the piece of discarded fruit from the floor. Then with a few more clicks of his heels his feet and legs appear fully in my vision, is well is a leather clad hand containing the crimson colored treat."Of course..."

_Be brave, be brave..._ Steeling myself is much is I can I lift my own hands and oh so carefully wrap them around the apple, while at the same time bringing my eyes up to meet his smiling ones. "Thank you."

It takes a great deal of my will power to minimize my shudder is his other hand comes to rest over mine, layers of leather and silk separating the flesh or not a touch is still a touch. "There is no need. I will always welcome the opportunity to speak with you."

_You're the bravest person in the world Nora. People have told you that._ I pep talk myself is I give him what I hope is a steady smile and a nod, then push the limits of my courage again. "I'm g-glad to-to hear that." Closing my eyes for a second I remind myself once again why I'm doing this. _Clint and Erik, Clint and Erik. _"Can we sit down?"

I wanted him to just agree with my request and do it, but doesn't look like I'm going to be that lucky. Not with the amused and suspicious expression growing over his features.

His brow arches higher, and the smile transforms into more of a grin. "While I appreciate your sudden cooperation..." He pauses is those eyes silently ask for my gaze and I give it to him, though it is done reluctantly I know that pleasing him is the best option. "...I find myself curios being to what manner of game this is?"

"It's not a game! I..." I cut myself off before I continue, thinking of exactly how I want to phrase this. Closing my eyes for a moment I lick my lips again before I decide I'm ready to continue. "I know I'd lose...and I can't afford to lose." I whisper out the last part is my gaze reconnects with his, silently praying that he sees the need in my eyes. _And cares._

Something does in fact seem to register with him, his expression shift once more. This time a small concerned frown and eyes tinged with sympathy look at me. While my mind is filled with relief, and the words _oh thank you god._

The sense of relief is so heavy that the breath I let out almost sounds like a sob. The fact that I let my head droop and my eyes close only makes it seem that way all the more. It's a reaction I didn't take the time to think about, or the potential consequences. _At least not until the potential part left._

The light cool brush against the flesh beneath my chin makes me react instinctively before my reasoning takes over. I jerked my head away from the touch with a small gasp, but that was is far is my retreat got before I remembered my mission. Controlling myself was made even easier by the fact that the hand that touched me didn't pursue me.

Instead he pulled it away, now that it succeeds in lifting my face back to his view. It is at the moment hovering in the air so I can see it, instead of drifting back to his side or my hand. Its up there is a reminder to what I clearly forgot. "Did I not say I would give you tokens and boons?" He's dressed his hands in fine leather gloves.

The chuckle I let out in response to his gently smirking reply is half in embarrassment and half a sob. It may have been inspired by him, but by his expression he has misjudged the reason behind it.

His hand moves back toward my face, while he takes on a worried frown. This time his hand doesn't reach for skin, but settle for the touch of my hair instead. He seems to find something fascinating with the strands, and if he prefers to touch my hair over my skin I have no arguments with that.

Enduring the feel of his fingers running my dark golden brown strands I do my best to still my shivers is I meet his compassionate gaze. "I've done something to distress you yet again." The motion of me shaking my head to tell him otherwise is stopped is he cradles the back of my skull in his hand and tilts my eyes back to his. "You need not deny it, I can see it plainly."

Whether then argue his conclusion again and risk annoying him I choose to relent. It's hardly an issue worth the effort anyway. Apparently it was the right choice too as I see a smile tug back at the corners of his lips.

"You inquired if I would share a seat with you. Does the offer still stand?" He asks in a very polite manner is his eyes shift to the couch then back to mine own awaiting a reply. Given that I had also intended the couch when I made the request in the first place my answer comes quickly. "Yes. Of course."

The hint of a smile becomes a real one, and he confirms my answer with a small nod of his own. "Well then..." He move us, stepping to the side a little before resting a hand on my waist and guiding me to the couch. The extra layers of the robe make it much less uncomfortable the before.

His other hand isn't idle either. Is he maneuvered us toward the particular piece of furniture he has decided to take the apple back, and is we pass near enough to the table it is deposited on the tray for another time.

Reaching the couch his gentlemen like actions continue, making sure I am comfortable seated before he takes his place next to me. From another point of view his gestures look genuine, and perhaps they are. But to me they look and feel like a cage. Whether it is true or not in my mind he had me sit first so he could catch me if I tried to escape. Not that I think I would succeed, or plan on letting myself try.

Though the couch was designed to fit up to three people comfortably, now that he has occupied it I can't help but find it too small. Though I encouraged this and asked for it a large part of me wants to get out of this situation, and quickly. I resist that urge, reminding myself of my reasons. Reasons that I have to remind myself of more and more with each passing minute.

"Your shivering child." The appearance of his voice startles me, making my head whip around to look at him instead of the nonexistent spot I had been looking at. That only lasts for a second before I look away, a blush coloring my cheeks from the shame of being caught off guard."I-I'm sorry." The blush becomes even brighter with shame of being ashamed.

Where normally my apologies please him this one doesn't seem to do that is much. He lets out a small 'tsk' sound and a heavy breath before he commits to actually words. "Will you not look at me Arnora?"

I want to say no, a huge and stupid part of me wants to tell him that. I go with the smaller part of me, the part that knows I have to or I risk not only my own well being but my friends. Fighting the actions my body wants to take I force myself to lift my face slowly back to his.

My efforts are rewarded with a warm gentle smile. I offer one back to him, but I don't have to see it to know mine is far less steady. His words take that into account. "Tell me dear one, what I can do to ease your tremulous mind?"

I nod again, the motion a bit rough is I keep my eyes fixed on his own and take a breath to speak. But when I open my mouth the words I want to say seem trapped on my tongue. Letting out a defeated and slightly aggravated sigh these words come out instead. "I don't know how to say it..."

_Don't flinch, don't..._ Is the new chant that runs through my head after the first small flinch gets by me. It doesn't deter his hand, but he does make his touch a bit lighter is he taps my chin, his leather-covered fingers urging my head back up from the beginnings of its trip down. There is knowledge in his actions, he knowingly only applies the brief pressure, realizing I would do the rest.

Now that he has my attention again he offers me an encouraging smirk. "You have always been direct with me in the past, I see no reason for that to have changed." His smile broadens a bit more. "Come now, tell me what I can give you to make you happy again?"

He told me to be direct, so I am. He told me to tell him what I want, so I do. "Clint and Erik..." _I just hope he will do it. _"Give me Clint and Erik."

I never really put much thought into the figure of speech about crickets, or pins. But if ever there was a situation I would hear them, it would be now.

The smile on his lips remains just is broad is his eyes close, but it looses its pleasant tone. It becomes tighter. His grip on my hands do is well, despite not applying anymore pressure. He lingers in this manner for a moment before a single 'hmph' sound escapes him.

Then his eyes open and fix back on mine, cold and hollow in their expression. "No."

"Loki please..." Those words are spoken both in an attempt to change his mind is well is calm him down because he frightens me again."...please, please give mehn!..."

The word 'me' turns into a whimper is his hand quite suddenly rises up and my mind immediately thinks it is going to hit me. The fact that he doesn't do very little to lessen my worry.

As I force my eyes from their tightly closed position I can see the palm of his hand and the arm attached in the left half of my vision. It hovers there, but only for a second before I feel his fingers move. The brush of oddly cool leather making no attempt to avoid my skin is he brushes the strands of my hair behind my ear.

Though I'm sure they are noticed the heavy nervous breathing and tense posture I've taken go unacknowledged is he continues. The brush of his fingers passes over the shell of my ear and the skin around it. This continues for a far too a long moment before his hand comes to rest against my collarbone, his fingers still contenting themselves by toying with the hairs at the back of my neck.

He is smiling again, pleasant is ever despite the feeling he knows he is inspiring. "I was quite sure we had moved past this discussion my dear."

_Don't move, endure it and don't move, you have to endure it Arnora._ The fact that he is making me so uncomfortable I'm even getting my name wrong is a very bad sign, even more so when after I noticed the mistake it didn't feel like one.

The name actually echoes for a moment in my head. Spoken in a multitude of emotions and voices, most of which I don't know. A few however I recognize well, they're the only voices I've heard for a while. Loki and Erik's are in there, but I've heard them call me that before so it's not that odd. The one that is unusual is the one I know has never said that name out loud. Clint's voice is in there.

I shove the moment of insanity in the back of my head away. I don't have time to give into it or question it. There's too much at stake for me to even consider it.

My breath comes out in a heavy but stiff controlled pattern is its exhaled through my nose. While higher up on my face I am in a battle of wills with the muscles that control my eyes. They want to try the impossible and get his hand back in their sights, while I am more determined than ever to meet his own.

_You're brave, you're brave, you..._ The words looping through my head are the newest variation of my chant is I once again try to make it a reality. Its success is only marginal at best. "N-No. We have-haven't had the-is one..."

I knew before I spoke that sentence that the risk was huge, much like hand feeding a lion is a risk. I'm dangling the opportunity for him to strike right in his face, and both of us know it. I think that is the knowledge that spares me.

The pressure of his hand increases making me stiffen up. It doesn't grab and pull at my hair is he did once before, that time being the closest he has ever come to actually hurt me despite my encouraging efforts. He merely presses those fingers a bit against my spine, making my head tilt a little higher to face him better.

The first words he speaks are a mumble, a thought spoken out loud more than anything. With me so close to him however it is impossible to miss. "How very much this reminds me..." Then he trails off, the distant look leaving his features is his cold eyes focus back on me instead of through me. "I will not free your companions, not for this transparent attempt at escaping me."

_This is a sentence I never imagined I would speak. _"I..." My eyes close and I swallow before meeting his again, cursing myself all the while."...I don't w-want you to..." The eyes drift closed again, I just can't say it any other way. "...free us." _Please forgive me._

His expression goes through several stages. First on the list is shock, if I never expected to say it he also never expected to hear it. It is followed by amusement. The slow spread of a grin and the emergence of a chuckle come to life is he comes to the conclusion that I am joking. Both of those vanish though is he notices the tears brimming in my eyes.

My desire and attempt to pull back are halted by the hand against my spine. His other hand came up, but in a slow and unthreatening way. I close my eyes tighter is my breath becomes even heavier and louder, the names Clint and Erik running though my head so quickly they've become one.

Its destination was my damp eyelashes, and when it claimed its prize it then retreated back to a tolerable distance. Clinging to the tip of his index finger is a tiny crystalline drop, one he seems to find very fascinating. "You weep over this..." That part is spoken more to the tear on his glove, but this part is spoken to me without question. "...Why?"

_Why?! He wants to know...why? _Is if there was any other reason but one. Taking a deep breath I swallow and give him a wavering smile."They're my friends..." I can't stop the tears that brim over or the small sniffle, nor do I try. I'm too tired, too worn thin to succeed even if I did.

"Please Loki, please let me keep them." I plead, with no thoughts to my pride, and in the same instance do one of the bravest things I've done in a while. I touch him.

My hands are trembling and my grip questionable but it doesn't change that my hands are against his clothes, and I'm the one who put them there. My left hand has claimed a spot against his chest plate, the golden design there almost too cold even with the gloves on. My right hand however has decided to be a little more assertive. Instead of just resting against him it is actually gripping onto the fold of his lapel.

"Please Loki, don't kill them..." I continue, my words more like a whispered rant. "Let them live, please let them live." _Maybe not quite the bravest thing ever. _"I'll do anything you want, I want them alive, that's all I want, just let them live..."

Not a word in his mouth, nor does even the slightest twitch appear to alert me that they are coming. The only reaction I get from him is the slight tightening of his brows and the movement of his eyes is he scans my face. What he is looking for I am not sure. But what I am looking for I do not see, and it worries me.

"Please Loki..." My worry turns to fear is his head droops a little more, the look on his face to neutral for me to tell, good or bad. The same can be said for the words he whispers. "How like a memory this is..."

I don't know what that sentence meant, nor do I particularly care. Not when his hands come up and wrap lightly around my wrists, urging my hands from him.

His voices try's to soothe me, but it has little to no effect against the things going on inside my mind and soul. Just like my pleas and attempts to keep him from leaving have no success.

With strength far above my own he manages to pry my hands away and gently force them down to my sides, assuming a kneeling position in front of me. There is a softness to his expression is he does this, and well it may not have been its purpose it only upsets me more. _No, please, you have to listen, you have to!_

He stays like that for a moment, those sympathetic colored eyes locked onto my tear-stained ones. "Please Loki..."

I find nothing to tell me his mind yet again. My chances at success are slipping right out of my grasp, I can feel it. It's like sand or water in a hand, no matter what it will find a way to escape. That is how I feel when his legs straighten and stand him from his crouch.

Just like he is stronger than me, he proves quicker is well. By the time I am on my own feet he has cleared half the distance to the door, and by the time I reach it he has already passed through and closed it. The sound of the lock sliding into place happens the same time is my fist striking the barrier.

"LOKI!" I call out through it, every fiber of me only knowing desperation. "LOKI PLEASE! PLEASE DON'T!"

Because he gave me nothing, neither a reason to hope or despair, my mind has settled on despair. It is playing out images of him going in search of Clint and Erik right now, and killing them outright. There aren't words strong enough I could run through my head to convince me otherwise.

"LOKI!" I scream again, my fists pounding on the door making it rattle. "I'LL DO IT! WHAT EVER YOU WANT! ILL DO IT!" I continue, the sides of my clenched palms beginning to sting is the abuse wears at the skin. "ILL DO IT! DON'T HURT THEM!"

My knees finally give way, my body now kneeling in front of the door. Even that doesn't stop me. "Please... Please come back..." I sob, the tears running down my cheeks is I start shaking. Letting my head rest against the door I still continue my assault on it, but with less intensity.

Nothing matters to me but my friends, and getting this door open. Even the existence of the smeared red circles on the door mean nothing to me. I would bleed for my friends, I would die for my friends. "...Please..." If only I had a way to do it.

* * *

Okay folks, there's 12. Now if it seemed less the quality about half way through I apologize. The last half was written under the influence of a cold. I hope it's still good though. Thirteen will be written and posted once I beat the tar out of this thing.

Well you know the drill. Leave a review. Maybe it will help me feel better.


	13. day 4: part 7

Hey! Wow. Thirteen happened, and quicker than I thought. Lol. Once again I don't own the Avengers, I only own my character (but if Marvel ever wants to talk. Hint hint, wink wink, Marvel lol). Anyways, on to the reading, the real reason you're here. (Oh, and hands of the new guy, he's mine too. lol.)

* * *

_Oh god...what have I done?_ Another small whimper leaves me, muffled into the material of the robe. I've moved away from the door a while ago. I'm not sure how much time has passed in reality, but it feels like a small eternity to me.

I pounded on that door for so long my hands bleed, and even then I kept at it. There was so much emotional force behind every strike and scream I directed at it. I didn't want to quit, I couldn't quit. I just kept trying; I didn't care about the pain. Even when the pain turned to numbness I didn't stop.

But there is a limit to everything, even if I didn't want to accept it. Eventually, I just couldn't do it anymore. Raising my hand for another blow seemed impossible. The only thing I could do was let out hiccupped sob after hiccupped sob.

For a while I stayed there in front of the door crying, but eventually I found the strength to move again. I don't remember the trip itself, I only recall that I felt pure loathing and disgust at the sight of that door.

I was directing all the blame at the inanimate barrier. It was now the cause of my despair, much more than the man who kept me here. Well I may be Loki's prisoner the door was more at fault than him. One can't be a prisoner without a prison to be kept in.

I abandoned the door, wanting to get away from the damnable thing suddenly more than anything. It was that desire that brought me to my current position. Nestled in the space between the desk and the vanity. I have my knees pulled up and held there by my arms, while my forehead is resting on the bends of my legs. I'm trying to hide from the world, but more importantly I'm trying to hide from myself.

The world doesn't want to give me that luxury though. The sound of that cursed thing's voice groaning fills my ears once again. It is followed by the appearance of footsteps.

They stop in front of me, a conclusion I make by the sound of them alone. I refuse to lift my head and give him the pleasure of seeing how much pain he has caused me. I just wish he would leave me alone. Something I make known with whispered words.

"I cannae do that Lil Hen." The voice that speaks back surprised me enough that I lifted my head before I could think about it. It surprised me because it was not a voice I expected or knew.

It's one of the soldiers, or more correctly the soldier. The one Clint almost killed for trying to catch me when I tripped.

He is standing in front of me looking down at me is I look up at him. His presence here confuses me, making my gaze linger on him a little longer, and take in the details that I had passed over before.

He has a man's face, in the way that his features are strong and a bit broad. His jaw line is squared except for the slight oval shape of his chin. It is made to look smoother by the presence of his trimmed beard. His mouth has a wide-set to it is well is his nose. The bridge of it is broad and flat except for a bump on it, while the nostrils are a little larger than average.

He has his brown hair pulled back in a small ponytail. While the part that rests over his skull is smooth and flat the section beyond the band is somewhat curly and unruly looking.

He is dressed like the others I've had the chance to see so far. His Camo pants are tucked into the top of his combat boots. Is for the top of him that follows the pattern is well. A grayish tan tee-shirt with a military vest over it and his assault rifle slung over his shoulder.

The presence of the man or his weapon barely elicits a spark of concern from me, let alone a visible reaction. Normally I would find his presence a reason to fear, even more so because he is armed. But right now all I feel is a sort of hollow hatred toward him, but even that isn't strong enough to call for a showing.

The tiny bit I had raised my head is taken back, and my eyes return to looking at darkness instead of unwelcome faces.

With my eyes taking a break it is my ears that observe his reaction. There is a 'tch' sound that's followed by a sharp inhale, probably through his teeth by the sound of it. "Anno..." Comes his voice with what I recognize is a Scottish accent. "...am'no the wan ya was wanning ta see."

It takes my mind a moment to translate past his accent, but I am able to do it while enough to understand what he is saying. At one point it was kind of required of me.

For a little while part of my job was to be an escort those who visited the S.H.I.E.L.D base I was stationed at. They were usually agents that were visiting or transferring, or representative's of other organizations. I was chosen for the job because I was 'good natured and naturally charismatic'. The other reason behind it was to help my recovery. That particular job demanded that I always be in relative close proximity to people, but typically in a one on one setting.

With that said I was exposed to many different accents in the process. I also encountered other languages on occasion, but it was very rare that I was assigned a charge that was unable to speak English.

It was a nice job, and one I can even say I enjoyed for the most part. I was grateful that Natasha recommended me for it, at least after I got over the nervousness of the idea.

Clint however was against it. He tried to talk me out of it, something I know he did because he cared. He finally relented and allowed it, but that only lasted until the mix up happened. I wasn't supposed to be 'his' guide, but the person who assigned me wasn't aware of my condition.

I was assigned to escort Tony Stark. It probably would have been easier if Tony wasn't so 'Tony' like. He didn't know about my phobia, and made the mistake of touching me. He had flirted with me the whole time and I politely put up with it but when he abruptly snatched my hand and kissed my knuckles, I freaked out. Gloves or not I couldn't stand any touch at the time. I jerked away so hard that I put my elbow through the glass screen behind me.

His concerned attempt to help me afterwards may have been well-meant, but they only made it worse. I was rescued by several agents and taken to the infirmary. When Clint found out about it he was absolutely livid. He wanted to ruin Tony's 'pretty boy face' for that. I managed to talk him out of hurting him, but I wasn't able to talk him into letting me continue being a guide.

Clint has been always there looking out for me. But the one time I had a chance to help him I blew it.

So when this bastard of a man says he knows he isn't someone I want to see he is 'absolutely' right. But he has no idea the intensity of just how much I don't want to see him or anyone here ever again.

The man in front of me becomes silent for a moment. The reason I would imagine is because he is waiting for me to say something, if I am right though he will be waiting a long time. It's not because I want to annoy him, it's just because I have no reason left to care.

It seems like a few minutes before a sound finally makes its way into my ears. He lets out a frustrated sigh before I hear his footfalls bring him a little closer. There is the creaking of his leather boots and the brushing of cloth on cloth that leads me to assume he is crouching down in front of me.

It's confirmed when he speaks again, his voice closer and more on my level. "Okay miss, th' boss sent me tae fetch ye..." My ears still hear the accent but my mind has gotten used to it and is now translating it out for the most part. "... Sae let's gie ye up an' presentable? Okay?"

_The_ _boss._ There's only one person that could be, and he is top on my list of people I don't want to see, even higher than this one. "No."

I'm not sure if it was the hostility in my whispered tone or the word itself, but I can almost hear the surprise in his silence before he finds his voice again. "No?"

I let out a silent chuckle; hidden by the fact my face is buried in my arms. This time I shake my head along with my words. "No, I don't want to see him."

There is another moment of silence before he comes back with a response. "Hn? noo aam confused. Given aw 'at yellin' Ah thooght fur sure yoo'd wanna see yer friends."

This time I don't bother holding in the sob that shakes me. Their happy faces flashing across my vision only succeeds in breaking my heart."I-I want to rem-mem...ber them al-live."

There is another pause, but this one much briefer, and when his voice comes out is surprises me a little. Because it comes out angry. "An' whit numpty bastirt went an' tauld ye they was deid?!"

Hearing that tone and then those words I can feel the hope flood back into me, it's almost suffocating. "They-they're not dead?!" I whisper out, too in shock to get more volume than that is my head shot up and my eyes meet his brown eyes.

The corner of his lip lifts into a grin. "Aye Lil Hen, they be alife. Dr Seuss an' th' Carver baith"

If I wasn't so, the best word I can think of is bombarded, with relief I probably would have made a comment on the nicknames he has given Erik and Clint. But at the moment all I can get out is breathless "Heh...".

While my emotions are running all over the place he seems to have a better handle on any he is feeling. He just smirks a little broader for a second then let's more words out. "Left ye haur tae wark yerself intae a fricht didne they?" He phrases it like a question but doesn't give me a long enough break to fill with words even if I could. "We'll tak' ye tae em, can bit that'll brin' back ye smile."

I still can't believe it. There's no doubt my mind is overjoyed at the idea, but I was so convinced of the worst. "They're really alive?"

This time he chuckles. "Aye, their alife. wi' breath an' bluid jist loch ye an' me." There's a brief pause and a change of tone. "'Baith ay em." I can tell that last part is reserved for Clint, and in a less than pleasant manner. But his opinion on Clint right now is the least of my thoughts.

I'm most concerned with not crying, and seeing my friends. _My 'living' friends. _The not crying part becomes all the more difficult is that realization sets in. _They're alive...my friends are alive._

He notices it before I did and brought their existence to my attention. "Ah, noo nane ay 'at." The way he says it is in a chiding way, but jokingly at the same time. "Dry ees an' happy thooghts noo lil hen."

I nod, sniffling a little and forcing a smile is I wipe the tears away with the robe, not giving a thought or care for what it might do to the material. "Sorry, you're right, I just..."

I don't get any more word out then that, because he doesn't let me. His voice cuts in once more. "Nain ay 'at either lassie. Nae yer faut some bampot left ye tae some reit awfy conclusions."

I'm not exactly sure what the definition of a 'bampot' is, but I can guess. During the few times I had to escort Scot's around I picked up on the accent well enough but they always spoke politely to me, is one would expect an official to do. This soldier doesn't seem to see the need, which I'm okay with because it probably makes his words more accurate to the situation. I've made a guess at the meaning, and my guess is that is falls somewhere in the general definition of 'prick'.

Giving him another small nod earns me a broad smile. "Weel 'en..."" he doesn't finish his sentence immediately, instead extending his knees from their bent position, and pushing his hand off them like a spring-board pivots his upper body back to its full height. "...let's gie tae it yeah?"

I nod, this time briskly; somewhat concerned he might try to help me up. He makes no attempt to do so, instead actually giving me the space to do so myself by moving not only himself but the floor lamp that was behind him. It relieves me but confuses me for a half a second before I remember why he wouldn't help me to my feet. _I suppose I can't_ _blame him. I wouldn't risk it either. _I know the consequences too well.

Unraveling my hands I free them from their task of holding my knees and assign them to new ones. My right hand rests on the floor while my left hand finds a grip on the side of the vanity, carefully avoiding the table lamp there. With my hands in place I pull myself up at the same time I put my legs to work, making the task either on all my tired limbs.

Seeing that I am now on my feet he grins a little more. But his next action catches me a bit off guard because he does it so suddenly. He turns, twisting around on his heels. He doesn't turn to me though. He turns to the wardrobe. My familiar companion worry creeps its way back in is he opens the doors to it.

He only remains busy with it for a moment, grabbing the first things that catch his attention. Turning around again by pivoting on his heels I see another green dress in his hands and the house coat from before, or maybe a different one. I don't recall putting it away myself nor seeing anyone else do it but that doesn't mean it wasn't done.

"This'll dae fur ye lil hen, quality stoof fur a quality lady." My meek thank you and the fact my eyes suddenly don't want to meet his don't go unnoticed by him, nor is does the reason behind them take long for him to puzzle out.

At first when he moved toward me I flinched away, remembering the way Clint 'helped' me change not that long ago. Seeing this he pauses and frowns a little, but makes no move to do what I'm half expecting. Instead he just holds out the items to me. "Haur ye gang lass; I'll be givin' ye coople tae change."There is a moment of silence is he checks my eyes to make sure I understand, and then he nods to the door."Gife a caa it when yer ready, be reit oan th' other side, okay?"

It kind of shocks me a little. The fact that he is actually going to leave the room and let me change. I know it's the polite thing to do, but I guess I've become accustomed to the lack of it lately. That's kind of a depressing thought, that I expect a lack of consideration more than I do consideration itself.

I'm not sure if I gave him some sort of reaction or he didn't need one in the first place, my eyes just suddenly picked up that he was in motion again. After depositing them in my arms he starts moving to the door, turning what was a moment ago doubt-able words into real actions. Even when I hear the door click shut I find myself still stuck with disbelief, especially given that only the latch clicked not the lock.

The doubt and suspicion of this situation return, and it's not just because the door remains unlocked. He doesn't need to lock it, not if he has done like he said and is waiting right outside it. Even if he wasn't it wouldn't matter, I know well enough that he is not the only soldier here, and on my own I wouldn't be hard to catch.

What has me more suspicious is the man itself. I didn't give it much thought before because I was so distraught, then so relieved. But he seems almost far too nice, at least for someone who is willingly working for the man holding me prisoner. It is willing to, at least to the extent of my knowledge. His eyes were brown, a normal shade of brown.

There is one reason I can think that might be why he is doing it, actually two. The first is that in a way I am the reason he didn't die. It was indirectly of course though, but it doesn't change the fact. I didn't want Clint to kill him, and 'tried' to do something. I never even got that far though. Loki beat me to it, but I'm sure he only did it so I wouldn't become upset. I doubt it had anything to do with him caring about the man's life.

The second ones far simpler. He is being nice to me because he was ordered to, and he doesn't want to piss off the boss. Again though that's not something I could blame him for if it was true. Most everything I do in this place is for the same reason after all.

A third conclusion pops into my head however. This one is the simplest so far. _It doesn't matter._ It doesn't matter why he is being nice to me. It doesn't matter if I find this situation suspicious. _For god's_ _sake I find doubt in all of it. _What matters is he has told me Clint and Erik are alive. They're alive, and waiting for me to come. They're waiting with Loki, a man who has proven that his moods can change dangerously at the drop of a hat.

_You've been given a chance Nora, just do it. _My mind is right, which is a kind of a silly thought to have I know but it is still true. I have an opportunity to help my friends, something I thought for sure I lost. If I don't take it though I'll never get it back. I don't have enough faith left to risk holding out for hope, if I'm going to find any reasons to hope I'm going to have to make them first. I can't keep waiting for the universe to take pity on me.

_God though, I don't want to go see that man. _It would be so much easier to just stay in this room. It would be easier for me if I could just abandon my friends, but I never could do that. Not in the past and certainly not now.

Letting out a miserable chuckle I come to a decision, not that I really ever one to make. I knew what I was going to do, I was just fooling myself.

Looking down at my hands I look over the dress the man picked out for me. Its green or emerald if you're particular, just like everything else I'm allowed to wear here. This one whether Romanesque in its appearance. It's an off the shoulder one, with a decoratively woven silver rope that sits under the bust line and relaxed pleating that travel down the skirt to the floor.

It's a pretty enough dress, but it's not me. I never really was very much of a dress girl. They typically exposed too much skin, and there was always the risk of exposing more with skirts. I got to the point I could wear them comfortably enough with a few additions, mostly gloves and pantyhose. Even then though I was more of a jeans and tee-shirt kind of girl. It suited my lifestyle more.

Dresses don't hold up well to obsessively mastering new recipes in the kitchen. Nor do they hold up well to gardening and walking in the woods. I got mixed reactions the couple of times I did do those things. They varied from amused to frustrated. The frustration came mostly from my etiquette instructor.

Walking over to the bed I finally stop wasting time. Setting the dress and the robe in my hands on its still untouched blankets I shift my focus to the robe and dress on my body. The large bulky article is the first to go because I can't get the nightgown off until it's removed. It becomes a very unfortunate fact of reality that am I slipping it off it takes quite a bit of my warmth with it.

My skin quickly is overtaken with goose bumps and the urge to shiver. I ignore it and continue though because there is nothing I can do and the quicker I get into my new clothes the quicker I can start gaining that warmth back.

Folding it in a careful manner I lay it on the bed is well. Perhaps if I am lucky it may and on to a little warmth by the time I return. That however is only a small thought and concern.

Moving on to the nightgown I decide to slide it off of me whether then go through the trouble of gathering it up and lifting its layers over my head. Shrugging off one shoulder then the next it falls around my waist, getting stuck at my hips. Hooking it with my fingers I persuade it to finish the journey and it finally settles around my feet before I step out of it and scoop it up to place it on the bed with the rest.

Even though it was a meager comparison to the heat the robe held it still was something. My distaste for extreme temperature flares up again and I can't help but miss my central air and the space heater in my bathroom. _I'd_ _give up anything to curl up in front of it right now_ I grumble mentally, not sure if I'm serious about it or not but still considering the idea.

Before the chill can work its way much deeper I pick up the other dress and almost laying it on the floor, step into it before pulling it up around me. I have to shimmy a little to get it over my hips but soon I have it up where it's supposed to be and am slipping my arm under its strap.

That done I check quickly to make sure everything is laying the way it is supposed to be. I myself don't really care, but I know he probably will. I find nothing out-of-place and after adjusting the bust area just to be safe I turn my attention to the robe.

That is quickly put on, one arm after the next finding its place in the sleeves and the rest of it wraps around my legs. Unlike him I make no effort to tie it, those little strings don't close it tightly enough for my taste. Pulling on flap to my side then the other over to the opposite side I hold it closed with my arms. Hugging myself for security is much is body heat.

The options of the door are taken away from me after a short while, reduced to one again by the appearance of that familiar accented voice."Yoo aw sit an' proper yit miss?"

It's probably a good thing he did it too, as my courage was wavering more and more the longer I looked at that door. I'd thank him for that if it weren't for that fact that nice or not he is still working for Loki, so I'm not really sure he deserves it. Instead I'll let my gratitude show by not doing anything that might put him at risk.

"Yes... I'm ready." That last word came out surprisingly steady considering how much of a lie it was. I could spend a small eternity trying to get there but I don't think I'll ever really be ready for any of this.

Given how quick the door groans to life he really must have been right outside, he might have even had the handle already in hand.

This time is the door opens though he doesn't enter the room. He just urges the door to swing open slowly with his hand pressed flat against it, and stands on the other side of the threshold expectantly. "This th' way."

I notice that his words and tone have become suddenly much more reserved, something that surprises me a little but not for the reason one might think. It would make sense that he would do it now, out in the view of others eyes and ears. It's self-preservation probably, not wanting to do anything to earn Loki's wrath, or Clint's.

The reason it is surprising is the fact he did it at all. That he was casual, and even a bit friendly with me. It seems like such a risk to take, not only did he take the time to be social with me, but he did it while alone with me. It's the kind of thing that if it got out could be easily twisted into something dangerous. It becomes an even greater one given he seems to trust that 'I', someone he doesn't really know at all won't turn him in for it.

My left foot moves first, spurred by stubborn determination, then my right. After that the momentum makes the walk easier is I close the distance between me and the door, and the man.

As I reach his position he holds up his hand in my view, not to touch me but to get my attention. "Like a statue noo."His tone isn't a harsh one, but the command in it is pretty obvious. His eyes stay with me is he waits for me to agree not to do anything stupid, and I give it to him with a nod. _It's_ _not like trying to run would accomplish anything good, only the exact opposite of good._

Satisfied he turns and quickly makes work of locking the door. But is he does I am granted my first real view of the world outside of that room. It's a world with a lot of eyes, the kind that makes me uncomfortable.

I can see him turn back toward me out of the corner of my eye, and it isn't more than a second before his voice returns is well. "Eyes oan th' grin an' keep pace, dornt be makin' me tooch ye."

There are reasons behind each of those commands, and reasons why I am okay with them. The eyes on the ground part is so I don't try looking for ways to escape most likely, especially since I was given the courtesy of not being blindfolded. I'm okay with that because even if I would like to form some sort of map of this place I have no desire to look into the leering and the hungry eyes of the men around me, watching my feet seems much more pleasant.

The command to keep pace is there for three separate reasons. Firstly so he can keep me an eye on me without effort, second so if I do try anything it will be easier to stop me. Is for the third I actually appreciate this reason, if anyone one is foolish enough to try anything with me he can quickly protect me.

The last command is more of a request. When he said he was looking out for himself, which is fine. If he doesn't have to touch me he doesn't have to get hurt, or worse.

He doesn't wait for an answer this time, just beings walking expecting me to follow. I don't allow myself to linger either, the people I wanted to see are not the people I see yet, and I definitely don't want to be left with these soldiers. However even though they are making me a bit nervous I still don't miss the fact that now that I'm walking with him his steps have become much more sure and steady. _He was waiting for me after all._

I do is I'm told, keeping my eyes down and matching his pace during the journey. But even though I don't let myself look around I am still collecting details is we make our way. I worked for an intelligence agency after all. _I 'can't' not gather evidence._ I'm noticing things and trying to puzzle an answer out of them.

Things like they've used what looks like sand, not dirt to cover the floor. That could be important. Places that usually use sand is a ground cover typically are places with it in abundance, like coastal cities or those in desert areas.

There's also the fact that the sand seems to be here for a purpose. The air in this place feels damp. There is moisture here, so they put it down on the floor to make it less slippery. That makes my desert idea a little less likely.

Thought the next detail I notice brings it back in. Out of the corner of my eye I've noticed that there seems to be quite a few support pillars. The bases of them have entered my vision every few feet. With that many of them the weight above them must be substantial.

That along with an earlier observation that there is not so much is a speck of what looks like natural light down here is enough for me to be confident in the conclusion that we are definitely underground, deep underground. That rules out the desert idea. Generally not many cities in desert climates have underground infrastructure like this. The cost and effort make it impractical.

My time is a detective however is cut off at that point. I can see and hear his footsteps stop, and after taking an unnecessary step more I make mine do the same, while my eyes notice the base of a door frame and the door itself.

The urge to look up now is greater than it had been during the walk. I want to check the walls and the ceiling. If I'm really lucky some idiot from a very famous, but very local gang might have tagged the place. That I know however is just wistful thinking.

What I really want to do is run. I'm scared. Not just because I know Loki is going to be right on the other side of that door, but I'm worried it's going to be nothing more than a cruel joke.

I'm not given the chance to do it. He knocks, a whether loud and sudden sound that makes me flinch. Then a second later his voice follows."It's Blackwuid boss. Ah brooght th' lady."

The 'illusion' of choice has been taken from me again. This time I'm not sure if I can be glad that it has. All I can think is _please, please don't be a trick, I can't_ _take it if this is a trick. _The doubt doesn't fade is I hear those boots of his grow from muffled to clear beyond the door, then the sight of them is the door is opened. Even the appearance of his voice doesn't lessen it. "So you have at last. Your dismissed soldier."

* * *

(I CHANGED QUITE A BIT OF THE DIALOGUE, SO IF YOU READ IT AFTER 10 ON THE 13TH YOU SHOULD READ IT AGAIN. SORRY BOUT THAT)

Slight authors note. My 'just' invented Scottish OC exists for one reason. CLINT IS BEING A PAIN IN THE ASS! Lol! I wanted this to be a chapter with Erik and Clint awake and interacting with Nora but no! All he wanted to do was beat things, kill people, and be a general horrible person to everyone! ...except Loki... And because I didn't feel like Nora getting her ass kicked for caring about him (and Erik about her) I had to come up with something else.

Oh, and on the accent thing. I generally don't like trying to type them, that's so hard. If you don't like it then I apologize, and if the majority doesn't want them id be more than okay with not having them.

Anyways read and review. Also opinions on the Scottish guy would be good, cause I don't have a damn idea what I'm gonna do with him (well...maybe one or two...), but suggestions are always welcome. :)


	14. Day 4: part 8

Still don't own anything. Though I would like to imagine otherwise. The property of Marvel remains Marvels, not mine. The only things that are mine are Nora and her pet, and the Scottish dude from the last chapter.

Oh, and for those who are patiently waiting on a Clint POV, I know I haven't gotten to it yet, but he is in this chapter (sort of...). Well on to the reading.

* * *

_Don't look at him, don't do it._ My first reaction at Loki's voice, and the slightly irritated interpretation my mind gives it is to turn to the soldier at my side. I don't even know where it came from really, but I suddenly wanted this man to keep me safe. I know it's stupid, and it more than likely wouldn't happen anyway. _It's just; he is the first person here to be honestly nice to me. Even if it was only a little._

His reply to Loki's order must have been a silent one because I hear no words spoken before the sound of his boots appear is he turns and walks away, leaving me alone with Loki.

I'd much whether to listen to his thick accent than Loki's proper speech, but I prompt it anyway. "Y-You wanted to see me?" Now that I'm here the waiting to see them is driving me crazy, much more than the doubt.

"I did..." His voice drifts off but the sound of his movement takes its place. My ears at first, then my eyes tell me he was moving closer. The sight of those boots of his coming to stop directly in front of me. Then a soft and short chuckle leaves him. "...perhaps the sight of your face to start with, yes?"

The unwelcome sensation of embarrassment floods me at those words. I hadn't really been doing it with any intention, but even after the soldier left I just continued following his order to keep my eyes down. I want to keep my face turned from him longer to let my cheek cool, but the thought of two other faces changes my mind.

Lifting my head I meet his smiling eyes with my bashful ones. "S-Sorry, I wasn't supposed to look a-around." I explain, making an attempt to justify myself even as I struggle a bit to keep the gazes connected.

"Ah.." He nods, the smile remaining on his face. "...I see." His eyes then take a moment to scan me over, noticing that I am not wearing what he saw me in last. They find their way back to mine before he speaks. "I trust he acted is a gentleman?"

My nod is because I don't want to get him in trouble just as much because it is true. "Yes..." The first word comes out a bit rushed but I slow the rest down to a normal pace. "...he waited outside and made sure I was ready before he let me out."

"I'm glad to hear it." His gaze glances in the direction the Scotsman went before turning back to me. "He seemed the prudent choice, having already been educated on the consequences of poor manners."

That sentence makes me a bit uncomfortable, since despite the wording it's only saying if people touch me there going to die. I'm not the kind of person to find that acceptable, especially for an offense that really isn't that serious.

He seems to have noticed it in my expression, or perhaps he assumed. Either way he switches the topic. "But come, you are here for a purpose after all."

I probably should have tried to hide it, but there's no way I could. My hesitance to meet his eyes is gone now; in fact I can't pull my attention from them. My expression is as hopeful is it is pleading. "My friends?! Their..." I can't quite finish it.

It doesn't matter though because he does it for me. "They wait for you." His expression and his voice are reassuring and patient. Even as my shell falters for a second and I let out a breathless "Heh heh..." He just stands there, allowing me the time I need. I don't let myself need much.

"I want to see them. Please, where are they?" The words come out hurriedly, but this time I make no attempt to alter their tempo. They sound pleading and desperate because they are. If he asked me to I'd kneel, I'd pray, I'd even kiss those boots. I just want to see if they're okay.

He doesn't make me do any of those things. Instead he just inclines his head slightly and steps to the side, motioning to the open door as he does.

I glance between him in the doorway for a second._ This is really happening._ It's only a second though. The next tick of the clock is filled with my feet moving, almost at a jog.

The room looks a lot like my own, is far is the structure of it. Is a simple square room with a single door, but is set up differently than mine. There are quite a few cabinets, and even a desk. Whatever this place was this was probably an office at one point. There's even a white board bolted to the wall.

None of this is really important to me. What does matter to me is the sectioned off corner of the room. Blocking my view of what's there are several curtains. They are simply mad, a large square of cloth stretched across a metal pole by curtain rings and suspended from the ceiling with chains at each end. If there really in this room then that's where they are and that's where I want to be.

Reaching it at a pace that could almost count is a run I grab hold of the cloth and fling it to the side. Then I stop. I just stand there is the bar above my head sways from my force and the chains holding it groan their protests.

It is Clint and Erik, but not how I expected to see them. They're laying there, still and silent. All my worries and fears seem suddenly true, and it hurts more than even the feel of Clint's knife.

Then I blink and with that blink my tunnel vision disappears, the scope of what my eyes comprehend expanding. They are lying down, that hasn't changed. Neither has the fact that they aren't moving. But the rest of the things I see dispute my conclusion of death.

They are lying on beds, each almost identical to the one that had been removed from my room. They also look horrible, the pallor of their skin even more distressing under the harsh florescent lights. That was one of the things that made me jump to that horrible conclusion so quickly.

The machines they are hooked up to do the opposite. I hate hospital equipment but I've spent enough time in them to have a basic understanding of what each complicated piece of machinery is. For example the array of wires taped to Clint's chest by those thin white bandages are connected to an EKG machine. _They have him hooked up to a heart monitor._

That isn't all he is attached to either, him or Erik. Each of them has a sort of triangular oval made of sturdy but flexible plastic. It's the oxygen mask, and attached to them are tubes that lead to a respirator.

Probably the most disturbing by far though is the IV's. Plural, not singular. Each of them has what seems like at least a dozen IV's in them, the needles and tape traveling up their arms. They go almost up to the elbows, and they have them in both arms.

I wanted them alive and I'm glad that they are, but I'm not sure this is a good thing. _In fact I know I didn't want this. I 'don't' want this._

I step forward, intent on pulling those things off and out of my friends. I don't care about the touch, I have my gloves. All I care about is that they're hurting my friends.

My attempt though is halted by an unexpected and startling force. I had been so fixated on Clint and Erik I didn't notice the man in a labcoat that had been standing to the side of me next to the curtain. He had been content to stay there unnoticed; at least until it became obvious I was going to interfere.

"Miss..." A head of graying blonde hair and blue eyes framed by glasses enters my vision, is well is my path. "...you can't disturb them."

I shrink back a little from him at first, but only because of the fact that he had his hands held out before him to deter me is well. When his words sink in though even that doesn't seem an effective enough deterrent. If my Clint were here he might even be proud, because actually I'm considering the idea of hitting this guy with something.

The hand that lands on my shoulder to stop me before I start obliterates that thought. Before I can do more than stiffen up and gasp Loki has managed to turn me around to face him, stepping around me and inserted himself is a barrier between me and the scientist.

While the desire not to touch him is strong, it is surprisingly not intense enough to prevent my attempts. I try to move passed him but he moves into my path and I recoil to avoid the contact. There is nothing to stop my pleading though. "No, let me help them, you're hurting them! Why? Please stop it... Please…"

His arms come out this time, catching me by each of my elbows, his grip light but still secure enough to restrain me. "Shh, hush..." He says the order soothingly is I try to squirm out of his hands, more pleading words leaving my mouth. "...calm yourself now. Be calm and allow me to explain, it is most assuredly not what you think it to be."

I remain unconvinced and it continues long enough that he finds it necessary to back me away from them, something that does nothing to calm me down. He surprisingly however shows no irritation with my actions, nor any desire to punish me for them.

The forced journey eventually ends up with us at the desk, and me being set in the chair. He releases my arms for a second, but before I can succeed in my escape attempt they take up positions on either side of me.

Having effectively caged me in he proceeds to crouch down in front of me, bringing his face to be level with mine. Not once while he does this do his hands move. "Please relax." The request in his words extends to his eyes. "Relax and allow me to explain."

_He wants me to relax? Is he kidding_? I met that look with one of my own. Trembling and on the verge of tears. "You're drugging them Loki!" I take a deep faltering breath. "Please, please don't do this."

The look of sympathy he seems to feel for me grows and he offers me a quick smile, his lips remaining closed until he speaks again. "Oh little one... Yes, you are right in that regard. But I do this for you, can you not see that?"

I take another sharp shuddering breath and shake my head. "That's not what I wanted!" My body is suddenly exhausted and I let my neck bend to the weight of my head. "I wanted them to be able to eat...and sleep..." The first tears have found their way over the edge."...that's all I wanted."

"And that is what I have done." The notes of his voice carrying sympathy, reassurance and a small amount of amusement, but not in a mocking way. "Please do not cry, I've done this to make you smile not weep."

I can't quite obey that request at the moment, but hearing those words I find myself lifting my head. Choking back a sob I look at him, my shoulders shifting with each heavy breath. "I don't understand?" Just saying those words is enough to undo my attempts to restrain the tears.

Seeing the lines trickling down my cheeks his mouth curves even more into a frown. I flinch just a little is his hand comes up, but with the way I'm already trembling it makes it hard to notice. "It may not be the manner in which you hoped..."

His hand never moves far enough away to allow me to slip by it, but I'm too tired mentally is well is emotionally and physically to try. It continues toward me slowly, his eyes on mine the whole way almost as if he is asking permission. Somewhere in the turmoil he must find it because those dressed fingers brush the tear stuck strands of hair from my eyes. "...but it was the only means of doing what you wished for."

Moving his fingers to the other side of my face he continues, his actions careful but quick is those locks are also moved out of my vision."Sedating them was the only way to allow them rest." searching out my eyes he offers me another gentle smile. "The scepters energy would prevent it from occurring otherwise."

I don't know if that's true or if I should believe it, but I have no knowledge to dispute it. I have to take him at his word, at least for that part."B-But the needles..."

This time the voice that answers me is not Loki's. Coming past his shoulder is the other male voice in the room, belonging to the aging blond scientist. "Medicine and nutrients miss." seeing he has gotten my attention he ventures just a little closer, trusting Loki to keep us separated. "We're replacing what your friends have lost, what regular meals won't provide." There is a small smile that flashes across his lips. "I know it looks bad, but your friends are going to be fine."

The doctor's words are reassuring, but they're not 'the' word around here. That is Loki's alone, and I want to hear it from him. Pulling my eyes from the scientists I move them back to his one. The look in them asking what my mouth does not. _Is that true._

I receive a gentle smile and an equally gentle nod, his eyes never leaving mine. "Yes Arnora, it is true. You bargained for you companion's well-being, and I have given it to you."

Those words lift a mountain on my heart, but in a way place a smaller one on my shoulders. While I am overjoyed that they are going to be okay, I know it comes with a price. He said bargain. A bargain always comes with terms and conditions. _I said I would do anything...anything he wanted._

* * *

Okay, there was 14. Hope you liked it. Suggestions? Comments? Anything? Let me know in a review.

Also I'd like to know if people think I'm doing a good job sticking to the realities established in the Marvel cinematic universe? Because that's one of the major things I'm trying to do. Taking the facts of the realities from the movies and expanding them while staying true. (Like the whole ' the scepters magic won't let them fall asleep on their own' thing)


	15. Day 4: part 9

Okay, here is chapter 15. I own nothing, Marvel would sue me so viciously even my corpse would still be paying them. So is much as I'd like to pretend, this world isn't mine, neither are their characters. Nora and her fellow creations are however.

Anyways on to the reading.

* * *

It was with reluctance, so much reluctance, that I was finally convinced to leave the room. I didn't want to at all. I only wanted to stay in there with Clint and Erik; it didn't even matter if he was there with me. I asked for it, I pleaded for it even, but it didn't change his answer.

He said I was exhausted, that I needed to rest. When I told him I didn't want rest he smiled and 'hmph'ed in amusement, then assured me that my friends were being taken care of, and if it comforted me, I could return later to see them. But only after I took care of myself.

I wanted to keep trying to change his mind, but I forced myself not to. I didn't want to risk pushing my luck anymore. He already gave me Clint and Erik, and I'm very aware that is favors go, that one was a whether large one. _You don't argue with larger ones, they're too important._

So I let him lead me out of the room. Him. Not Clint, or Erik, or even the Scotsmen. Just him. I let him walk me back to my fancy cage, with his hand against my back the whole time to guide me. This time keeping my eyes on the ground was easy.

Even when we passed over the threshold of the doorway and back into the room I didn't feel the urge to lift my head. I just took a few extra steps before stopping and listened to him close and lock the door behind me. The scuffling of his boots also drifts into my ears, notifying me is he turns around again. _He was right when he said I was exhausted._

Without a means to gauge the time I can't be sure if my exhaustion isn't from lack of sleep, but I think it's more from the roller coaster of emotions I've been through. I've been bombarded with things, from the outside is much is the inside and it's been almost constant. _I haven't...God, I haven't slept since the furniture came..._

"...Arnora?" His voice pierces my thoughts; the notes in it question but amused. I look up at last, the location of his voice inspiring the action. His voice came from in front of me, the opposite of where I thought he was.

Seeing the surprised confusion in my eyes makes his smile a broad one. "Your ears heard none of that did they?"

_Oh lord! _I try to pull something from my memory, but it isn't there. _Did I really just ignore him? _"I-I'm sorry!" The words come out a bit too earnest for both our tastes, but are entirely true to the intensity of my concerned embarrassment.

The smile decreases but doesn't vanish, instead it becomes a bit more somber. "It's alright..." He soothes, stepping a little closer and resting a hand on my shoulder to get my attention more completely. "...it's alright. You're weary..." There is a short pause, this time the smile turns into just the barest beginnings of a frown. "...and cold?"

My attempts to withhold the shivers seem to have failed me since he noticed. Their cause is the temperature of the room, but it isn't the only cause. However it's the only one I'll admit to. I glance up at him and offer the smallest of nods. "Y-Yes, it's a little c-chilly down here. I'll be fine."

It doesn't seem to satisfy him. For a second his eyes study me, and then he comes to some sort of conclusion. His steps carry him quickly away from me, to my momentary relief. It's momentary because as soon as I realize where his destination is I also realize that probably all he is going to give me.

His feet had carried him to the side of the bed, and once there his hands made quick work of picking up the robe. His words make it a certainty. "Come here please?"

The please and the requesting tone are probably only for formality sake, it's not like either of us think I would be dumb enough to refuse him at this point.

Nodding instead of speaking I agree to his request and set my own feet to moving. They soon take me next to him, stopping their forward journey. Their next course is more of a circular one is I turn around with little steps, offering him my back instead.

Out of the corners of my vision I can see the folds of material being opened around me to eventually close me in. It isn't too much longer before another of my senses registers them, my shoulders feeling the familiar weight of it settles on them.

The layers have lost all their warmth in the time I was away, but I realistically already imagined they would. Even without heat in though the presence of it is making a difference. The robe is already keeping the body heat I have from leaving. It's also keeping the cold air from finding its way in. Even the weight of his own cool hands haunts found its way through yet.

"Thank you." My words are spoken softly, but I know he heard them. The gentle squeeze on my shoulders alerts me to that.

Then he makes another request. "Will you sit now, and relax?" Lifting my head a bit I turn it to glance over my shoulder at him, offering him another agreeing nod. "Alright."

His smile widens yet again at my acceptance, it even reaches his eyes making them twinkle a little. With a few shifting steps he has moved to the side of me but let one of his hands rest on the fabric over my arm, directing me to the seat he has in mind.

Tolerating the pressure of his touch remarkably well I soon find myself right in front of the couch. Looking at it I find no argument with this option, in fact the cushions of it are practically insisting that I occupy them.

Turning to give in to their request I only take a few moments of delay, having to arrange the layers of the robe behind me so I can sit without it tugging at my shoulders. When that is finished I let my muscles bend at the knees and hips to place myself in the position necessary to sit. He shifts his position to, and it's a bit surprising.

He kneels in front of me. It's a startling thing to me, because of what the kneeling means. Well I doubt he has done it in this fashion kneeling still implies you're putting yourself below someone, both physically and in terms of status.

Watching a bit awe-struck I witness him tucking in my feet. Even my reactions are a bit numb, my feet lifting without real thought is he tugs the robe under them before wrapping the sides over the tops. Even my eyes seem a second behind is his eyes meet mine, and seeing the expression in them chuckles a little.

While I am busy feeling embarrassed yet again and finding fascination in the weave of the fabric he has risen back to his feet. His voice has become active again is well, and this time I don't miss it.

"Would you accept a glass? The mead will warm you."

Three things pop into my head simultaneously. The first on the list is the usual distrust and suspicion of poison, followed by the knowledge that nothing I could do would prevent it anyway. The second is more specific, the concern that maybe drinking around him isn't the wisest choice. Its conclusion is much the same, it doesn't matter. If he wants something he can get it whether I'm drunk or not. The third though is this. _Saga held the cup._ It makes no sense.

The sudden shaking of my head is I try to clear the strange thought away before more can follow is interpreted by him is an answer. "No? Are you sure? It is only to drive away your chill."

"I uhn..." The sentence is forced to a stop is I feel another twinge behind my eyes and take a moment to push it away. "Mead?" The word sounds so familiar, but I can't recall hearing it spoken before.

My curious inquiry brightens his smile once again. "Yes, mead." His hand precedes him in the gesture, drifting behind him to direct my attention before he moves out-of-the-way to see, and makes me feel like a bit of a fool yet again.

On the table behind him is what is obviously a wine bottle, though a bit more of a fancy one than the usual. The neck of the bottle is straight, with the exception of two spheres. The top on is smaller and is resting on a band in the glass while the bottom is larger and taller. Both of them a covered in vertical ridges. Beneath them it curves down to become more of a square, but a square with its edges cropped off. It's decorated with a band of crisscrossing X's, one at the top and bottom. While between that there are tipped oval, two in the broader sides and on in the narrow. The broader sides also have a circle with some sort of seal stamped in the glass.

He then elaborates on the nature of its contents. "A honey wine, produced from the honey of bee's on a diet solely of wildflowers."The attention that had been on the bottle drifts completely back to me. "Can I still not interest you in a glass? Well it may not be on par with the Suttungmjadar it is still a tasteful vintage."

Well I have no idea what that whether long word is except perhaps a name of a particular foreign wine he enjoys it doesn't stop me from making a decision. Some might even say a stupid decision. _Most are more like it. _"I'll t-try it..." This part is added quickly. "But only if you do too."

That makes him laugh for a second, before calming down. "Very well, I will drink to prove its innocence to you."

He moves, but at first not to the bottle on the table. Instead, he crouches down in front of the small china cabinet next to the couch. Opening the glass paneled doors he makes quick work of deftly retrieving two wine glasses in one hand, and then closes the doors back securely with his other hand. Now that that's done he heads to the table at last.

Setting the two glasses down his hands switch their focus to the bottle. It doesn't take him long to remove the cork, thanks to the round glass ball attached to the other end of the stopper. Then one at a time he takes up a glass and fills it, going about it the proper way by pouring it at an angle and swirling the contents a little is well.

Finishing that he lets the glasses sit there for a moment longer, taking the time to put the stopper back in the neck of the bottle. Then holding each one in the small space at the base of his fingers he walks the tiny distance back to me, holding on of the suspended glasses out to me first.

Looking at the glass in his hand for a moment of hesitation, the thought of how stupid this idea is coming back to the front of my mind. Drinking with the man holding you captive, what kind of person decides to do that. _...the kind in need of more courage..._ My internal monologue is unfortunately right.

The glass feels cool and solid is my hands wrap around the bowl, a palm on each side and the fingers interwoven where they meet each other. Instead of making me pull the glass from him he releases the stem, pulling his hand away. In the process however his leather-bound fingers very keenly brush against the sides of my palms.

He notices the slight tremble in my hands it causes, the liquid in the glass swishing because of it. He makes no comment on it though, merely letting those eyes glance at my avoiding one before he takes his place on the couch next to me.

When his weight settles into the cushions I allow myself to glance at him for a moment before turning my face back to the glass in front of me, nonetheless I can still see him clearly beside me.

There are only a few seconds allowed to pass, and they are filled with him studying me, though his way is more direct than mine was. Then because he knows I will not drink until he does he sets up removing my suspicions, bringing the glass up to his lips and taking a visible swallow.

The suspicious part of my me lets me know he could have just faked it, anyone can make themselves swallow after all. It wants me to get more proof. The logical side of me however knows the only way I could really do that is if I was looking in his mouth while he did it, and I know he would never allow something so ridiculous. I just have to be satisfied with that.

My eyes stay on the glass in front of me, studying it for a moment. The glass of the bowl is etched with a floral design, and the foot of it has a sunburst on its circular shape. Another second passes in a state without thought, before I decide to just get it over with. The glass meets my lips and is empty almost just as quickly.

It turns out to be stronger than I expected for a wine, and I can't help but sputter a little after I chugged the likely expensive liquid. While I am busy trying to calm my throat down my ears pick up a small 'plink' sound and not a second later I can feel the pressure of his hands. One is rubbing against my back to help me relax and the other is on my shoulder, urging me up from my hunched over position.

"I-I ahen I'm fine" The sentence loses its believability given that it's mixed with coughing and a slightly hoarse tone. The only thing it accomplishes is a small chuckle from him before he successfully urges me to lean against the back of the couch and recover my breath.

"Had I known you were going to do that I would have put less in your glass." There is nothing serious in his tone, or his expression. Nor is there in my response. I let out a chuckle of my own, leaning my head a little farther back and closing my eyes for a second is I organize my thoughts.

I can't believe the situation but mostly I can't believe myself. This man is a bad guy. He brainwashed Clint and had him kidnap me. Hell he almost killed me! Yet here I am sitting next to him laughing at his joke. I'm laughing at myself too. It's a slightly distraught pathetic laugh, the kind you hate but have to accept because you know there's no other way.

"Please..." My bodies calmed down enough I can talk normally again. "...can I have another?"

There is a long pause, one I'm sure is filled with him looking at me intently, but I don't look back. I can't quite bring myself to do it.

Finally what emerges is not so much a word as it is a sound. He sighs just a bit, the tone slightly pleasant. Then the words do come, along with the sound of shifting leathers. "I think a glass of water seems the wiser choice."

He doesn't make it off the couch, something that surprises him a bit more than me, but only a little. My hands found purchase on his arm. They have gripped the upper arm, the part where the green strips intersect with the black leather ones. "Please..." I look up at him, a wavering smile on my lips. "...I... don't want water... I, I just want to get this over..."

He lingers in that half risen position for a second, his face once again regarding me curiously. Then he relaxes, letting his body sink back comfortably into the spot next to me, his eyes wearing an expression I wouldn't have expected. He looks nostalgic.

"I will not repent..." hearing those words makes me inhale heavily, my posture becoming stiff at the series of sounds. He notices but continues without comment. "...those were the last I heard you speak, the last any of us did before you left us."

I just shake my head. "I didn't... I don't know how you know those words" I look back at him chuckles a little. "That was a dream, fragments of things, that's all." Taking a deep breath I look at the glass laying in my lap. "I don't understand... please just tell me what you want..."

The corner of his lip tugs up in a sadly amused smirk. "A dream, do you really believe that?"

I blanch a little at that, the words stinging more than I'd like to admit. When it comes to my past I can't sure of anything because I don't know any of it for certain. "W-What else could it be...?"

This time it's less of a smirk and more of a smile. Turning his body to face me his left hand comes down to rest on my right one well his eyes never leave mine. "They are your memories, her memories."

The look of confusion in my eyes asks the question I won't let my tongue, for fear my annoyance might be heard. _Her memories?! Her?! My life is mine, how could he dare... _"The women you were before, not this fabrication..."

His tone may have been calm when he said that, but I can't do the same with mine. "Fabrica...! How can you jus..."

My words don't get farther than that, interrupted and shocked into silence by his. "I found you stunning on that dawn. You stood on the bridge, with the rising sun and the morning mists surrounding you. You stood there with sorrow and fury in your eyes, and a refusal on your lips."

I want to say something to that, I really do. The words are stuck though, they're too heavy to rise out of my throat. The only thing leaving my lungs is the deep but slow pant my breath has taken the pattern of. I can only look at him stunned. _How did he...?!_

"That means something to you..." His smile is soft but easily recognizable is a pleased one. "You know this scene, just as you knew those words."

I shake my head emphatically. "No, I..." Swallowing I steady my voice before it can waver. "That was a dream, just a dream..."

"A dream to you now perhaps..." He says calmly, trying to settle my nerves before they can get out of hand. "...but a memory once, from a life that was stolen from you."

"No, no..." I shake my head again, taking a deep restless breath. "No, they're just jumbled things in my head, that's all they are. That's all, just pieces and, and..."

Hearing and likely seeing is well the hysterical edge trying to force its way through he changes tactics. He reaches out and catches my hands, an action that I at first resist. It doesn't take him very long to overcome my efforts though. Each hand has occupied itself with gently restraining my own. "Shh, hush. Forgive me; I did not want to upset you."

_...Didn't wish to upset me..._ How could he think for a second that it wouldn't? It's almost is cruel is tying me to a chair. He knows I can't argue with him against what he is saying, but he said it anyway. That's not what disturbs me the most though. It's the chance that he might be telling the truth. _What if it's not a dream, I mean he knows it in detail... No, no it has to be._

Shaking my head a little more I allow it to droop while doing so. "Please, please just tell me want you want so I can do it."

His expression takes on a sad tone while still bearing a soft smile. Then one of his hands releases mine, coming up to claim my chin. I shiver at the contact but don't jerk away like I normally would. It's a very bad sign, that I don't even have the strength left in my far that. Instead, I just weakly move my head in the direction of his fingertips.

Lifting my eyes back up to meet his gaze he removes the contact of leather from beneath my chin, leaving the effort to hold the position entirely on me. "I want..." He pauses and smirks before tucking a wayward section of hair behind my ear. "I want you to be strong." There is a slight break after the word want, and it occurs each time is he continues. "I want you to be healthy. I want you to remember."

His tone changes for this one. "I want to give you the chance to punish all those who have wronged you." It switches again from the angry notes to something sadder. "And there have been many indeed."

Before I can refute that he continues on. "I need you to be the Vanir woman I remember you as. I need your skills."

* * *

Okay. There's 15. Finally revealed what Nora is. Now I'm curious, how many people guessed that already, because I've been dropping hints throughout the story.

Well you know the drill. Questions, comments, even concerns. They all go in the box right down under this. Leave one, it makes me happy.

Btw, does no one have an opinion on the Scottish guy in thirteen? Really? Or the chapter itself? It got no reviews, lol. I'm worried it isn't good.


	16. day 4: part 10

Okay. Here, is 16. This one is kind of short, I apologize up front for that. I'll try to make the next one longer. Once again, I don't own squat. Marvel is master of their universe, I just play in it.

* * *

"V-Vanir?!" That word elicits a strange response. While I may have stuttered it a little it oddly feels familiar on my tongue. My ears however still see it is a foreign word, something new and different.

His smile doesn't recede but his eyelids drift closed for a second; it gives him a sort of sleepily content look of amusement. Then is his eyes reopen his mouth joins the action. "By your reaction I would guess you have yet to remember that word. Am I right?"

My lack of a verbal response seems to be enough of one anyway. He merely shrugs absently, the words is much is the gesture rendering it unimportant. "No matter, that will also return with time."

Just as I don't need to speak my answers to be understood it seems the same extends to my questions. "The Vanir are one of the fairer races that inhabit Asgard. They are your people."

That sense of shock has dug its claws back into me, and with good reason. _He...he thinks I'm a...alien..._ well I may have a hard time arguing whether he really knows me or not, I'm fairly confident I can argue this. I mean it's one thing to forget memory's, but it's another to forget what species you are.

"No, no..."His expression turns curious at my word, and for a second makes me hesitant. The brief worry dissipates however when I notice he doesn't look upset. "...I... I'm not that, I was born here, in Maine. Camden Maine. I'm not an alien."

My words make him chuckle softly under his breath, then those eyes meet mine. "You, my dear are is foreign to this world is I am."

I persist in my attempt, trying to explain to him that this time there is definitely a mistake. "No, I'm from here." I make a small circular motion with my free hand, indicting more what surrounds the room than the room itself. "From Earth."

His smile is calm, but slightly amused. "In 'this' life perhaps." The urge to convince him continues, and almost comes out again. It is halted by the slight raising of his and to silence me.

"I have no delusions that I will convince you of this quickly, but if I may ask one question?" He pauses allowing the request to be a real one, the kind that receives an answer. I nod in weary agreement. "When the memories come, where do you find yourself? Do you see visions of this realm, or somewhere of wonder?"

This time the lack of a response is intentional. I can feel anger inspired by those words, but it's angry at myself. I hate those words, because he is right. Most of the things I see don't look like they belong here at all. Even if I chalk them up to random assorted fragments they make less sense than more.

The feel of his hands squeezing lightly around my own makes me reluctantly turn my attention back to him, but I let my gaze land on his collar instead of his eyes. "You're displeased again." It's not a question, more of an observation really.

I huff, it comes out is more of a motion than a sound. "I... I just..." That thought doesn't get any farther before decaying in on itself. _I'm too tired for this. _"No more Loki, it doesn't matter... just... no more..."

I'm too tired for all of it. I want to curl up and go away for a while, but I'm not given the chance. Even letting my head droop to gaze at my legs is denied me.

His hand moves under my chin, his thumb and fore finger resting against the jaw bones on each side, while the rest of the fingers are lightly curled and pressed against the soft flesh beneath my chin.

There is a subtle shiver, one that is probably more felt than it is seen. I imagine he feels it even more is he leans in, pressing a light kiss against my hair. "I am sorry. But it must be done." Taking a hitched breath I let my eyes close. _Why..._

"I will make a contract with you." At first I just try to ignore it, but then what he says next catches my attention. "Allow me the chance me restore your memory to you, agree to this and I will grant you a favor, a request for something of your choosing." Seeing that he has my attention he allows a small smirk of a smile to cross his lips.

"A-A favor?!" The look of shock on my face makes that smirk turn to a smile. He nods in agreement, his eyes staying connected with mine the entire time. "Yes, a favor. A standing offer to ask for something, and without expiration. Do you agree?"

Looking at him I swallow with nervous excitement, trying my best to hide it. To aid that effort I let my eyes close tightly, and bring my knuckles up to my mouth. It must look like I'm thinking, but really the answer is already chosen. It was an easy decision because it was the only one. "Y-yes... I'll do it."

* * *

Well there was 16. 17 should exist soon. I hope you liked this one is much is the others.

Leave a review. I promise I'll reply. Lol


	17. Day 4: part 11

Okay, here is 17. It's a little longer than the last one, that was a lot shorter than I realized. On to the disclaimer I own only Nora, and my few other creations. The rest is Marvel's.

So now its time to get to the reading.

* * *

When I told him I agreed to his terms I truthfully expected that he would want to begin right away. After all, before he made the agreement he seemed to be trying already. It's not what he did.

He said he would leave me so I could sleep, and after a short while that happened. First he went to the door and ordered a tray of apples to be brought. Something in the way he said it though was strange to me, a few of the words really caught my attention. He said I was still too 'delicate'. He didn't use words that would have made more sense like thin, light, or even underweight. _He described me is like a piece of china._

My mind stopped fixating on that however is his trip to the door finished and he returned. This time he didn't sit, but choose to stand at my side. It was a little intimidating, especially given that he had settled into looking down at me silently. The expression on his face was not in any way hostile, it was still wearing a soft smile. The thoughtful look in his eyes seemed more the reason it made me uncomfortable. I would have much preferred to know his thoughts than not.

It did not continue for very long. His attention was pulled from what things he was running through his head by the knock on the door. A voice appeared, and it was clearly a soldier by the gruff tone, but not the Scotsmen though. That was probably a good thing. It was probably only because of the situation, but I didn't and don't want to put his safety at risk. He was nice to me.

Loki, instead of just simply telling the man to enter went to the door himself. There was a small exchange of words and then his hands extended beyond my view, hidden by the form of the door. When they reappeared they are holding a silver tray is I expected them to, and it was carrying the apples I also expected.

His feet moved with a purpose now, and they brought him quickly back to the table. His hands acted with a purpose is well. It didn't take him long to set the tray on the table, making it a companion to the wine.

With that done his attentions turned back to me. He was smiling is he said the next words. He wanted me to eat, and get plenty of rest. The order was delivered with a smile is well, I was to use the bed. Closing my eyes I gave him a reluctantly accepting nod.

When I opened them again and looked back up at him he was still standing there, the same expression on his face. He didn't linger long after that but before he left he placed another gentle kiss on the top of my hair, letting his fingers absently toying with the ends of a few strands. He then wished me a good night and left, the sound of the door making it official.

I sat there afterwards for a while, stuck in my head. That's what I'm doing now, wondering if I had done the right thing. _I'm making deals with my kidnapper, should I even be doing that?_ I'm not knowledgeable in this kind of thing, these the kind of things I would go to Natasha to find out. She isn't here and even if he isn't an expert Clint would have been number two on the list, but he can't help me because he isn't Clint now.

That's why I agreed to the deal, because of them. A standing favor for anything I choose. I knew right away what I would use it for, I'd use it for them. If there was ever a situation where they needed help, I would use it for them. _For Clint..._

It's a selfish and stinging thought. For Clint, not for Erik. I love them both, but those eyes are in my head again. I'm not sure if I'm right in this guess, I think Clint is 'waking up' from whatever Loki did to him. I only saw it the once, and I haven't seen him since, but if it's true Clint might need my help. _I don't know if it would even extend to something that big, but god I have to hope it does..._ Clint needs to get out of here, a lot more than I do. The selfish part of that thought transforms to selfless.

I don't want to admit it, but I know it's true. Clint's more important than I am, so is Erik. If one of them can get out, can escape then they can get help. I would never make it, I don't know how to disappear like Clint does, and is for Erik he wouldn't do much better than I would. We would be caught again. Clint though, he could make it. He could find SHIELD and tell them where we are, he could get help.

I want to cry after I have that thought, I want to react just like most people would. I am making a choice that will condemn me, maybe even destroy me. I know that being emotional in a situation like this one is normal, but that knowledge doesn't make it any more bearable.

I know something else though. When my mind remembers the existence of the mead a second after my eyes pick it up at their edges I know it will do what knowledge can't. Sure it will only be a temporary reprieve, but its the only reprieve I can see available to me.

I know the effects of alcohol, in fact thanks to Clint I know them well. The first time I drank was with him. He said he wanted the honor of 'reintroducing me to alcohol. He did it however with shots. He took advantage of my amnesic naivety is well, he told me it was better to drink on an empty stomach. Well by the end of the night my stomach was definitely empty.

He didn't do it to be cruel like I thought the next morning. He informed me once he managed to corner me a week later and make me talk to him exactly why he did it. He wanted me to know what it was like to be drunk, and around drunks. He wanted to make sure I understood my limits and was safe. But then he also added that seeing me plastered was kind of cute. That comment earned him a few more days of the silent treatment.

This time I fill the glass to the brim, ignoring the way that you usually only fill the bottom of the glass with wine. It takes two hands to hold the bottle steady, my hands being difficult and trembling despite my efforts. The glass isn't left full for very long.

The wine stings on the way down, the taste clinging unpleasantly to my tongue. It's not a bad wine, I imagine the flavor would be nice if I sipped it like I am supposed to. Drinking it straight though made the taste too strong and therefore foul.

Setting the glass down perhaps harder than I should have it teeters for a moment once it is free of my hand. However, its motion brings my attention to something else.

My eyes find themselves filled with the red orbs of the apples again. Well my intentions are to numb myself with the wine, I still have sense in me. It would be a very bad idea to become drunk here, or sick. I may be tired of the taste of apples, but they will be serving a purpose this time.

I completely ignore the small knife that's on the tray, deciding I'm not patient enough to bother skinning or slicing up the apple. I let my teeth do the job instead, sinking their way past the red sink into the white flesh and removing a segment to be devoured.

I repeat the process until the apple is gone, and even continue to a second one before I am satisfied. By the time I've finished it though I can feel the exhaustion creeping its way back in on quick legs.

The wine is probably part of the reason for its speedy return. Knowing that however isn't enough of a deterrent to prevent me from filling another glass. This one is also downed in a hasty manner. My face tightens up, and my head goes about shaking afterward's is my taste buds try to come to terms with what I'm doing to them.

With the wine in my system and the lack of sleep for who knows how long it doesn't take me long to get over my aversion to this bed. I could have settled for the couch, but I choose not to. I want to sleep, a long and comfortable sleep. The sight of that overly ornate piece of furniture promises me just that. I make it to the bed quickly if not with the beginnings of unsteady feet, but is for getting under the covers I don't have the will or the strength to bother.

I just lay on top of their soft plush layers, letting the robe cover me is I curl up into my favorite sleeping position, the fetal one. My hands are acting as another support for my head despite the cushioned mass of the pillows, while my legs are bent up near my stomach. I'm not sure exactly how long it takes me to fall asleep but it seems like the second I am comfortable I finally let go of reality, receiving a well deserved break.

* * *

The man I sent on the errand a while ago was utterly confused by the words the second his ears understood it. He could not fathom what I could need such a thing for, it perplexed him so much he even felt the need to ask. His words were silenced before they began. I informed him in a whether clipped tone that I was not in the habit of making requests and assuming I had given him anything short of an order would be unwise.

Upon hearing that the curiosity in him faded in the face of the soldier he was trained to be, and likely a sense of self-preservation is well. Though they are not exactly sure what it is they are all aware that something 'supernatural' has been done to the former members of SHIELD.

It is an annoying belief, but a whether amusing and useful one is well. The mortals have always been creatures prone to superstitions. It even seems to have a connection to their skin tone, I have noticed that the darker their flesh the more superstitious they are is a people. I tolerate it, and even encourage it at times. It makes them more obedient, for fear of earning my wrath. It makes them more industrious is well.

Though it is a pity I had to agree to the loss of the killer and the scientist for a few days. The productivity has suffered slightly because of it. No matter, I have been informed it should only be a day or two at most before they have recovered their strength. I had planned to discard them when their usefulness had run out. However keeping them alive could be beneficial, there is always the possibility that plans will change._I may find a use for them yet._

Even now their continued existence has proved of use. She cares for them, that alone gives their lives worth. Their existence makes her happy. They are familiar to her, something she clings to in this situation. She wants the companionship of someone she knows and while I may not enjoy the fact, she does not yet know me.

The memories of what connects us have not returned to her. It is plain that some have begun to work their way up from the depths of her mind, but the number seems to be a small one. I will have to do something to quicken the process. _Soon...it will be here soon._

When it arrives I will be able to begin the process, though in a way it has already begun. I am not sure if she has noticed it but in the beginning she shied away from the very sound of my name, whether on her lips or those of others. She has stopped doing that, in fact she even says it freely. It may not seem that great of an accomplishment, but it has greater significance than one might think.

Her aversion to my name is not the only thing that has lessened. She has grown more comfortable with meeting my gaze is well.

There is another, by far a more important improvement though and this one I would imagine she must have some awareness of. While she still trembles at the feel of a touch, its intensity has diminished. She is able to bear it in greater degrees with the passing of time.

I still bear no illusions that she will be cured of this condition in the near future, but the progress she has made is exceptional nonetheless.

Indeed at this rate I find myself somewhat eager to see the possibilities only time will reveal. She may yet exceed my expectations in this matter, in fact I'm hoping for it.

Finding her here was a surprise. I knew she was on the planet somewhere, I knew this because I watched is she was sentenced to this place. But what this realm lacks in quality it makes up for in quantity. Earth is a large and over populated realm, and one that could easily lose a woman in its swelling masses.

It happened that way is well. In fact, I was never really able to maintain her whereabouts, or the more correct wording would be to say I was never allowed. The Gatekeeper, for all his supposed neutrality had no fondness for me even then. When I made inquiries about her he would extend only the courtesy of informing me she was well in terms of health, but nothing further.

Heimdall's biased tongue extended to all but a select few, to those blessed individuals he answered their questions in detail. They proved to be just is forthcoming with word of her is the Watcher himself.

I found myself hindered in other ways is well. For her crime not only was she banished from her home, but she was to spend the rest of her days in solitude. No one from Asgard was allowed to offer her aid or comfort, even entering her sight was forbidden.

That extended most of all to myself. As a prince of Asgard I was bound even tighter to the will of the All-Fathers judgment, whether I saw it is just or not. The path to Midgard was denied to me, and I had yet to discover the existence of a way beyond that of the Bifrost.

Fate however cruel can be capricious is well. I never imagined that I would find her so easily, or so very in my reach. Not only had the organization known is S.H.I.E.L.D taken possession of her, but in their ignorance they stationed her in the very facility containing the Tesseract, the very thing I needed. The circumstances were too coincidental to be anything other than the hand of the Norns, and while I may detest those sisters I have never been one to refuse a gift.

"...And what a gift they've given..." Letting a slow smile claim my lips I find my gaze pulled back to that door. It lingers there even after I hear the approach of footsteps. It doesn't take long after before an anxious voice breaks the silence. "Sir?"

Prying my eyes from the door and my thoughts about what's beyond it I turn to face the man who spoke. I knew from the voice it was the African I sent out earlier, and my eyes confirm what my ears already knew. They confirm more than that in fact. In his whether large pitch colored hands is a container of a contrasting color.

Any annoyance I might have felt at having my thoughts interrupted at the knowledge of what is in that perforated box. "Ah, yes..." I chuckle is I push myself out of the leaning position I had taken against the wall. ".. the best of gifts." I murmur, my eyes focused on the smaller set that is returning its own from inside the cardboard container.

This particular human is a whether vocal one. Is I step closer to the box and therefore him is well he feels the need to clarify its contents, is if I was not already aware. "It's just like you asked for sir. I took the time to make sure."

I hear the words but disregard them casually, not overly concerned. I knew he would accomplish it is I wished, and if he had not I would have just have replaced him in the task. I look up with a small incredulous sound leaving me. "Why of course you did soldier."

Reaching the box I allow him to continue holding it. My own hands go about loosening the flaps holding the lid closed, after that the rest of the effort of opening the box is done for me.

The creature inside sticks its head out, as well as most of its body. Its front paws rest on the edge of the box is it looks around with interest at its new environment, not quite confident enough to attempt exiting the box completely.

It even retreats a little at the approach of my hand. But while its shrinking was only because I moved to hold it while its face was turned from me the mans has a different reason behind it.

The animal is the braver of the two, for it has no reason to find fear in the situation, indeed it is more curious than anything is I lift it from the box. Its small little nose try's to sniff at the glow engulfing my free hand. I allow a chuckle is the magic I'm preparing to weave make it sneeze and paw at its face.

The soldiers' abrupt departure at the sight means little to me, he has done his job after all and needs not linger here. "Just is you will do yours." I whisper, running my hand over its back in repetition is I cradle it in my arm, the glow slowly seeping from my hand to disappear beneath its coat of silken furs. "You will do it wonderfully."

* * *

That's the end of 17, I'm sure people are going to have an opinion about it. So make use of the review box and let me hear it. Lol.


	18. Day 5: part 1

Wow everybody was all excited about the cat. (One person in particular. You know who you are, and this better be good enough for a while lol.) So here is the latest chapter. I hope it's up to the standard you're used to, and of course I don't own Marvel... yet again.

* * *

_Humming..._ I can hear humming, but it isn't really humming. I think there are words in it, but I can't make them out, just the steady sound of a woman's voice. It's too soft to be a man's voice, but not high enough to be a child's.

The tempo is steady and consistent, it never deviates from its pattern. "Hmm hmm, hmm hmm, hmm hmm..." But it's not the tempo that has me interested, It's not even really the words I can't make out either. It's the voice. _I know that voice, I..._

"_Arnora..."_ That voice is new but I know it too. _Wait? Know it...too? _I was thinking of something, but I can't remember what it was. _Was it important? Yes... It was... _"Your weeping child, wake now and let the dream go."

That voice, his voice, _Loki's voice_ is enough to drive away the unconscious desire to cling to sleep. However my will seems a little ahead of my body. Opening my eyes proves somewhat more difficult than I imagined, they have become tacky with dried tears, giving his claim that I had been crying even more weight.

As my alertness returned to me a little more it registers my condition beyond my eyes is well. The tears had found their way further than just my lid's well I slept, my cheeks are slightly sticky with them, and they have yet to completely stop.

It's a foolish sensation that fills me but I feel whether embarrassed that he caught me crying in my sleep, it's even worse because I can't recall what caused the tears in the first place. It must have been something I dreamt, whatever it was though fled before I opened my eyes.

Bringing my hand up whether hastily I make quick work of wiping the evidence from my eyes, the sides of my fingers is well is the back of my hand becoming damp with the transfer. When that is finished they found a new task, bringing them back down to my sides I use them to help push me in a sitting position. I feel a little too vulnerable laying down with him standing over me.

Applying the pressure on my palms I lift myself a little, pulling myself backwards and dragging my legs until my hips are lined up with my hands. My hands are then relaxed from their effort, but remain where they sit because at the moment I have nothing else for them to do.

My lips seem more in need of a purpose than they do. It feels like I should say something, like I should break the silence and fill it with words. I'm not sure what exactly those words should be though. I end up settling on a simple "Good morning." I feel whether silly while doing it too, since I'm the one who woke up.

A slightly amused smile is the reaction he gives me, it makes me feel even more awkward. He thankfully doesn't maintain it long. "Good morning..." He offers back. "I trust your slumber was not entirely a restless one?" His expression turning to slight concern.

"Oh! ..." I shake my head, the motion slight but sharp. "No, I slept well." I tell him honestly. I do feel very well rested actually, I don't feel tired at all anymore. The combination of mental stress, exhaustion and alcohol put me out like a light.

"How long was I... Ah!" The question was abruptly cut off by a sudden and odd touch on a side none should have come from. Loki was and still is standing on the left of me, but from the right something damp and rough touched me, dragging across the back of my hand.

I ripped my hand away from whatever it was because it surprised me so, but while I did that my head also snapped around to see what exactly it was. What I see is completely unexpected, but explains the nature of the touch right away.

_A cat?! There's a...cat...?!_ My eyes don't lie, there really is one. It's a cat, not a kitten. Though I have no idea its real age at a glance it has appears to have grown out of its small kitten state into physical maturity. Also, given the size of it I would make a guess that it is a male, they tend to be larger than the females is a generalization.

It's a whether beautiful creature is well, I would find it pretty even if I wasn't fond of felines. Its shape is long and sleek. Its body resembles that of an oriental cat, a Siamese would be a good example. But it's not, its shape may be similar, but its fur isn't. It is a long-haired cat, and its fur is a shimmering shade of black.

One trait it does seem to share with a Siamese though is its expressive nature. Its long plumed tail is twitching slightly in what looks like confusion. I only need to look at its face to confirm it. Its narrow features are regarding me with a questioning look, and I would even venture a slightly annoyed one. The cause is most likely the fact I tore my hand away, and the salty flavored skin it was enjoying more importantly.

Now though seeing that it has my attention once more it strives to keep it. In the usual manner of a cat it asks for no permission and waits for none is well. It has decided it wants to be on my lap to be petted, and while I better do it too.

It pads its way with quick steps over my robe covered thighs and begins trying to find a comfortable position in the crease of them. While I may not have any opposition to it being there at this very second I'm still a little too busy coming to terms with the fact it exist at all.

Turning and glancing up at Loki I don't even need to voice the question, the look in my eyes makes it clear enough. " It is here for you."He answers, then smirks down at the cat is it try's to force me to pet it, rubbing its head against my hand, which I idly consent to. "I thought you could use a companion, someone more congenial than myself to keep the loneliness at bay."

While the idea is touching and made more so by the fact he cares enough to do it there is still a small moment of concern. "But you said Clint and Erik..."

Before I can work myself up any further he raises his hand, the gesture silencing me. "...Will still be yours to see is you wish" His smile spreads across his lips again. "You need not worry about that."

I let out an audible sound of relief, my worries evaporating with the exhale. "Thank you" Those words are directed at two things, the reassurance that I can still see my friends as much is the animal in my lap.

_The whether discontented animal._ It seems slightly irritated by the fact I'm not petting it, its head pushing against my hand with more force. It's not fond of sharing the attention apparently. Giving in to its demanding nature I begin scratching it under the chin, something it shows it fondness for immediately by the emergence of a steady purr.

While my hands focus on it enough to content it my mind is still not entirely fixed on the life form in my lap, some of its attention remains on the larger one next to me. "It's beautiful."

I can see his smile spread wider before shrinking back to its previous size. "Indeed..." His hand reaches out slowly, making its intentions clear before it too joins mine in petting the cat. He doesn't however let his hand brush mine, restricting its area to the back half of the cat's spine.

The cat however doesn't seem to care where its petted, it's just thrilled that its receiving even more attention. It doesn't even seem to notice we're talking. "...I'm glad to find your love of little lives remains intact."

His wording seems odd to me again. The fact that he said 'little lives' is opposed to 'small animals' catches my attention, but I chalk it up to the idea it might just be a figure of speech I'm not used to.

I find nothing coming to mind worth saying to that so I just allow myself to move on to the next topic. Still scratching it, but this time in a circular motion behind its ears I turn my head to Loki to talk to him properly. "What's its name?"

He does the same, bring his eyes up to meet mine. "At present I believe he is lacking in one..." Offering the feline one last full caress his hand stops petting it, something it shows its annoyance of by flicking its tail a little more. "...that honor has been left to you."

_So it's a he then._ Knowing its gender is a help anyway since I wouldn't want to give it the wrong kind of name. Loki saved me the trouble of discovering its gender for myself with that statement. Not that I think it would have been difficult to find out, the cat seems calm enough and hasn't shown any signs it doesn't like its tail touched.

The rest of it though like he said is up to me. It makes sense and seems fair after all that I should name it since it's now mine. The question is what to name it.

I'm kind of particular about names. I think a name is one of the most important things about a person or animal in this case, after all in the beginning it was the only thing I had. So when I name something I put a lot of thought into it.

Like with Jareth, my poor dead baby. _Oh my baby..._ My eyes threaten to tear up again at the thought of my kitten's fate. I left him bleeding and broken in a closet. I loved that kitten, I loved it so much. It was my first real Christmas present, from my first real Christmas. Steve was so worried I wouldn't like him, and we both laughed at the tongue twisting list of names I gave him. _Steve..._

"Arnora...?" His voice catches my attention, making me lift my eyes back up to see concern written in his. The weight of his hands claiming mine startle me for a second, and it's only after I feel them that I realize I'd been trembling as well as tearing up.

Without releasing my hand or my eyes he turns his body a little to the side and proceeds to sit on the slim edge of the bed facing me."...what troubles you now?"

I shake my head a little, an action meant not so much to dispute it as to downplay it. "No, it's... I was just remembering my kitten..."

His response is to nod and offer me a sympathetic expression. "Ah yes, the little warrior."

I have to chuckle a little at that nickname, then nod in agreement with a wavering smile. "Yeah, he was..."

I'm given a tiny and brief smile following those words. "For what little worth the words will have, do know that I am sorry for that."

The nod in response is less than convincing given that while I do it I'm letting my head tip down to avoid his eyes. It's also less than acceptable is well.

Before I can completely take my eyes off him his knuckles find themselves under my chin, removing any chance at further descent. " I am..."His gently urging fingers meet with a moment of resistance, the pressure of his fingers against my flesh increases slightly before I give in."...truly."

"I-I kn..." The distress in my voice is well is the general emotional state is noticed by not only the man in the room, but the other male is well. In what's both an attempt to comfort me and demand attention he puts himself between us, his front paws walking their way up my chest and his nose nudging at the underside of my chin, practically pushing Loki's hand out-of-the-way.

"Ehh..." The brazenness of the cat startles me a little is much is it amuses me. It doesn't realize it but what it did could have been something dangerous. However to my slight surprise Loki seems to find its actions just as humorous as I do.

"I know." This time the words are steadier, and more sincere is well. Offering the man next to me a genuine smile even if it still is a little sad I let my eyes drift back to the cat. "I mean, you're trying so hard..." It purrs happily is I rub my hand over its back. "...that's why he's here, isn't he?"

His smile broadens. "Yes, that's why he is here." He says, repeating my words back to me. "It is my hope he will make up in some small way for the cruelty you've endured."

"..." Before anything I can say comes out his hands come up to discourage me, it succeeds making me shrink back a tiny bit into myself."There is no need for placating words." His smile is reassuring and gentle to go along with his tone before his hand comes back down to rest over my arm near the bend of my elbow.

My posture stiffens a little at the touch, a concern in my mind coming to life before fading away. For a moment I was worried his touch might not be content with the outside of my robe, but he gives no sign of it occurring is he continues on. "You were always a gentle creature, but I fear in your absence I have become more callous than I realized. I would ask your forgiveness in that regard." His smile becomes warmer. "But only when you are ready to give it."

Not sure exactly how to respond I settle for offering him a meek smile of my own. "Th-Thank you..." The rest of the words that come out are scattered and fragmented at best, but not stuttered. "Really, I mean...its just... I wish I could..." They aren't frantic or upset, there's just too many things in my head, and it all wants out at once.

His own words make my thoughts a lot easier to understand. "Its alright child, I understand your concerns." His hand moves back down to wrap his fingers around my own, the leather of his glove creaking softly. "You want to remember, but you fear I will only fill your mind with elaborate deceptions, yes?"

I say nothing to that, because there is nothing to say. There wouldn't be a point anyway. Anything I might say to counter it would be an obvious lie, he hit the nail right on the head.

"It is a reasonable concern, and one I will not deny you." That brings my attention back from its slight venture away from him. "When there is nothing there seems room for everything."

I want to say something yet again, but I find myself without the chance. "My words may inspire doubt in you, but when I speak truly you will know it." Is he says this he brings his hand is well is the one of mine he holds up, moving them to rest near my heart.

His other isn't idle either. It comes up almost as if he wants to touch my face, but it never makes it that far. Instead it hovers slightly is if unsure, before his shrinking smile grows again and those eyes meet mine. "You have no idea how I have missed your presence."

* * *

Well there you have it, chapter 18. Chapter 19 will be along shortly, but for now opinions on this one are welcomed and looked forward to.


	19. Day 5: part 2

Can it be May already, you know, of next year? Damn I hate waiting. Anyways, I don't own Marvel, I only vacation in it. Here is chapter 19 for all you wonderful folks.

* * *

He said his words would ring true when they were, and those did just that. I don't have any idea how much he missed me, because I still don't have any idea how he knew me. That he did know me is becoming less doubtful with time, but I still haven't figured out exactly how he does. Its starting to drive me a little crazy.

It doesn't make sense, not even a little. _He shouldn't know _me. My family was S.H.I.E.L.D, both my mother and my father were agents. They were even before I was born. I am literally a child of .S.H.I.E.L.D. I was conceived by and born to two agents, who by all accounts were good agents. While I am aware that being agents they would have had dealings with a certain number of less than savory people, that I can accept. I have a much harder time however believing they would have let a 'terrorist' for lack of a better term be around their daughter, let alone one that wasn't even from earth.

That is something that I believe too, even if it seems a little far-fetched. While I never had an encounter with the one named Thor myself I was already aware about him and what he is. After all I not only work for SHIELD and at times under Coulson but two of my friends had met him personally, one more than the other.

Plus lets face it, even in an organization like S.H.I.E.L.D having a confirmed alien encounter is kind of a big deal. It was the main attraction is gossip went for a while, and in that regard Loki's name did come up.

But even if it hadn't I would still have reason to believe he isn't from this world. Working for the organization does give me a certain degree of knowledge. While I may not be a technological genius by any means I am still aware of what technology exists and what does not, even the things that the public doesn't know about. _And there's no technology from earth that could do what he claims his scepter did to Clint and Erik._

"Loki..." I let out softly after taking a deep breath. _Why do the brave decisions always feel like the dumbest ones at the time?_

His attention had drifted back to the cat in the short time since he spoke. When it had noticed that his hand was in the air it decided to make use of it. It abandoned me in favor of him, almost prancing in the small space between us and settling on his lap to be petted.

_He looks so..._ while I have come to terms with the notion that Loki himself is not a violent man what I find in my vision now is something new. He is petting the cat, trailing his hand over its back in a slow and steady repetitive motion. The other hand hasn't neglected the attention seeking creature either. He is curling his fingers under the cat's chin, something it is enjoying so much it has practically laid its head on top of them.

The thing that holds the most gravity of the scene though isn't his actions toward the feline, gentle as they are. It's his expression. I can't really come up with a good word for it, but it's one that is easily recognized if you've seen it before. _It's warm..._ It's an odd explanation, but it's still true. There's a soft warmth in his eyes, the kind you reserve for something precious.

_And now it's on me._ Hearing my voice his eyes naturally turned from the animal occupying his lap to meet mine. I can't hold it. It's embarrassing, but I can't meet it back. I don't know why, there isn't a reason I can come up with for it. I just know one thing. _Desperate, those eyes make me feel desperate._

He see's it too, he must because his expression shifts. It turns to concern and is it does the sudden flood of emotion diminishes to something more manageable, something I can analyze. While it was definitely desperation it was more complicated than just that. This desperation was specific, it had a need. It wasn't about me, Loki. I felt desperate for something else, something very important. _Something I can't remember...why can't I remember!_

"Nora..." That word alone startles me into stillness. _Nora, not Arnora._ That's one of the few times he has used that name, and I'm not sure what to make of it. The concern in his voice mirrors and even exceed the presence of it in his eyes. _Have I really worried him that much...?_

I hardly even noticed him shoo the cat out of his lap. That earned Loki a somewhat indignant response from him before it hopped off the bed to go somewhere else, looking for all the world like it was suddenly too good to let him pet it anymore. Loki paid it is much mind is I did.

I was snapped back into reality be the cool pressure of his gloved hand against the back of my skull. My startled jerk of a reaction was met with his "Shh..." And followed by a question. "...what did you...?" Or the beginnings of one.

The words came out before I could even think long enough to stop them. "It..." At least they started to. Before I continue with my original train of thought I manage to stop it and change it into something else, something less compromising. "Its-its nothing."

I can see that he obviously does not believe me, and for what seems like a small eternity I am left praying he doesn't push the issue. Then in the next instance I'm left surprised. "Very well, is you wish it." _He let it go?!_

My expression once again proves far too readable for my taste, his lips tugging up in a smirk at the shock he must see there. "Dear one, I will not force an answer from you, they are yours to keep..." It becomes a full smile as he pulls his hand back, the fingers trailing over my hair and then the robe but not my skin. "...or give."

I feel most likely just is foolish is I look, but for a moment all I can manage is to stare blankly. Then my ability to think catches up with the rest of me. Shaking my head to rid my face of it's no doubt embarrassing expression I let my voice out again. "Thank you for that."

He responds with a small amused breath. "I've promised to be kind to you have I not?" He says it as a question but I can tell it doesn't need an answer, so I don't give it one.

In the absence of one he also decides that I've stayed on this bed long enough. Rising from his place at the edge of the mattress he puts his feet under him to use and stands back up. His hand is quickly given a use is well, held out to help me up. "Come..."

My own action begins after a moment of hesitation. My hand would whether not set itself in his, but my mind overrides its decision. While my grip is light and tentative his own is more secure is it encloses the silk gloves surrounding my skin. _Really am glad for the gloves, his is well is my own. That was very nice of him to do._

He takes great care and keeping the grip gentle but also steady so is not to distress me too much is he holds my hand. The hand he hasn't claimed has fixed itself to a point on the mattress and has become something like a pivot is I shift my leg. First the right one moves itself over the edge of the bed. My toes protest even before they touch the ground, they already know from experience that they will not enjoy it. My left leg and foot follow, those toes even less eager to feel the cold now that their siblings have been reminded of the sensation.

Once both my feet have settled themselves to the idea of the floor he begins to oh so slowly lift the hand he holds higher, waiting for me to meet him in the action before he quickens it. Whether than be forced to stand like a stubborn child, I give him what he wants, my legs falling into motion is they lift my hips up and away from the mattress until I am standing upright again.

When he said the word 'come' it was whether obvious that we were going somewhere. That somewhere however only turned out to be the table. That it was only that far isn't that much of a disappointment to me, I hadn't really had the time to get any hopes up after all.

The reason for the brief journey across the room was already whether clear, but became even more so is he releases my hand in favor of the chair. He pulls it out for me in a clear invitation. The intentions are clear, he is holding the chair for me to sit obviously. Almost just is obvious is the reason he brought me to the table, the apples are the only thing on it.

That sense that bravery is nothing more than a cloak of stupidity comes back, riding on the tails of the earlier desire that was briefly sidetracked. "Loki...?" My courage falters for a second and I let my eyes drift from his, swallowing nervously before I take a steady breath and meet those eyes again. "...Loki, can we talk instead?"

His expression looks for only a half a second confused, then he changes it to a grin, accompanied by a nod. "Of course we can talk."

His own words promising is much come back to me, echoing silently in my head and making me feel a bit foolish is they do. "Right, I uhm..." I can feel a blush creeping onto my cheeks despite how unwelcome it is, and turn my face a little from his in an attempt to hide it. "...I just...!"

The words that might have followed that tiny ramble are cut short by the sudden lack of space between us. He is now standing with only a few inches separating us, though has made no attempts at actually touching me this time. "Your nervous. Please do not be?"

_That's an easy request for him to make. _Following it proves more difficult, but not impossible. It takes me a moment before I force myself back into a state of calm. My success in this brings even more intensity to the smile on his face. "There now, that's better." In the pause before he continues I give him a small nod of my own. "Now what is it you wish to talk about?"

"You..." The look of confused curiosity reclaims his expression even is I continue. "...me..." I need to get the request out before I lose all nerve for this. _Once its out it will be easier._ "...us."

I may have been wrong about it being easier once I said it. His expression has transformed yet again, this time to something blank. Something I can't read. "I'm sorry I shoul..."

"No" That word, a single, but very powerful word kills the voice in my throat instantly. I want to keep talking, but I can't. I made him mad, I didn't mean to. I won't however risk making it worse.

"Do not apologize." That was most definitely not the response I was expecting. Lifting my head back up to meet him my eyes find his looking into my own. His gently smiling and proud eyes connecting with my surprised ones. "Not for that."

The shock is fading from me again, but slower than I would prefer. Its lingering presence disrupts my ability to think probably, specifically about my words. "I thought I made you mad."

There is a small span of time is he takes in those words silently and still. It is ended with a small sigh leaving him. "You did not..." He now begins to step a little closer to me, his left hand settling on my shoulder while the right takes gentle control of my chin and removes my choice to look down. "...and I will not be such a cruel man is that, to punish you for a question."

I give him another nod, though with the position of his right hand it is a whether stunted one. It is also only a brief one since in doing so I'm pushing my skin into his touch. He notices this is well, and for an instance takes advantage of it. With his fingers remaining curled under my chin his thumb trails the pad of the fingertip over my jaw bone gently. It only accomplishes a single pass before my automatic reaction lifts my head away. He makes no attempt at continuing.

His words taken over for him instead. "You want to know...about us?"

Given that small caress that just occurred I find my true request a little changed. 'Caress' is not a word I want to label that action is because it carries a degree of heavy implication with it, but despite my wish I can't come up with a more innocent term. I can however do something about the next things that might occur.

Focusing the gaze that never actually left his I clarify my new and exact wish. "I do.." My tone makes is clear that wasn't the end of my words. "You know me, and well I may not believe..." At this he smirks a little but does not interrupt. "All of this, I believe that. Tell me about Asgard, telling me about 'home'."

* * *

There's 19, I hope you all enjoyed it.

Also have a question, how do you folks like the pacing? Is it too slow? I'm trying to make it believable, so I can't just have Nora convinced in one chapter or anything, but I'm curious about the readers' opinions.

Leave a review and let me know.


	20. Day 5: part 3

So here is 20. It took a little while, but this time of the year is always super busy for me.

I do not own marvel so far all that's mine are Nora, the cats, and the Scottish guy.

* * *

_Could a place like that really be real?_ The things he described to me seem like something out of a fantasy novel, like the myths they 'were' supposed to be.

I remember bits and pieces from the story's Erik told me, but even knowing about the man called Thor they were never much more than stories to me. I listened attentively when he spoke of those amazing things, but then they didn't seem important enough to commit to memory.

Had hind sight found it in its mercy to give me a heads up about what my future held I would have paid much greater attention, but hindsight is called that for a reason. It never tells you what's coming until it already came.

Now I'm left pondering the level of belief I want to place in things.

He told me about 'Asgard'. When I first brought up the topic he spoke that word back with hatred for it in his tone. He called it a 'place 'I' had the misfortune of being born to'. It scared me a little, the harsh intensity in his eyes. It vanished from them though the second he noticed how it disturbed me.

He made me a strange promise next. He swore I would never have to endure its traitorous and deceitful soil under my feet again.

I didn't know what to say to that so I said nothing. I was even willing to go so far is abandon the question. He however was not.

His mood seemed to turn around then, he even looked happy. He was glad I wanted to know these things, even if it was clear I doubted that any truth was in what he told me, or would tell me.

He was right about that too, something we both knew without question. Even is we talked and discussed these things, something I at times prompted for a more in-depth explanation it was clear I didn't quite regard them as facts.

I mean, the things he talked about didn't even sound real. One of the main ones he brought up was the bridge. I was already mildly aware of what it was. Erik called it the 'rainbow bridge', he said that was what the word meant. S.H.I.E.L.D referred to it is an Einstein-Rosen Bridge. Loki had his own name for it as well, he called it the Bifrost.

There were other things that were discussed as well, but the biggest one I had doubts about was the 'world' itself. Actually I more than doubted it, I completely didn't believe it. He said Asgard wasn't a world in the sense that I knew it. Indeed everything he told me about it defied physics. The description he gave me wasn't a planet so much is a continent. A mass of land suspended in space.

If that wasn't impossible enough he also told me that this continent was surrounded by an ocean, one that somehow didn't float off into the universe around it. He said it was contained by the realms gravity and atmosphere, two things that a place like that shouldn't have. It shouldn't have them because it shouldn't exist.

He spoke it all with the conviction of something he knew to be the facts. I however couldn't give it the same. I may not be a scientist like Erik or even his friend miss Foster, but I still had a basic understanding of how things worked.

The conversation didn't continue long after that, cut short by something that was important enough to warrant Loki's personal attention. What it was however I was not allowed to know.

I'm not sure if his absence is a good thing, but I am choosing to think of it is such. It will give my mind a chance to rest from the task of re-learning the laws of the universe. It will give me a chance to rest in general.

I am given an even better distraction almost is soon as the door closed.

The still nameless feline has reappeared from where ever it vanished. Its irritation at being shooed out of the spotlight seems to have faded, the chance at being the center of attention again to tempting to pass up.

It wanted to be closer to my level, using the chair nearest to me so it could reach the top of the table, and be is high is it could well still being next to me. Its bid for my attention though is momentarily given its own distraction.

When it landed on the surface of the table it almost did so to the tray of apples is well. _The very offensive apples._ After correcting its landing to avoid the red fruits and the tray they are on its posture becomes a little stiff is it creeps closer to the fruit.

I almost want to laugh, my brain soon realizing that its stalking the fruit Getting closer to the tray and its contents it doesn't let his eyes leave the gleaming ruby surface, most likely mistaking the light reflecting of the skin is eyes looking back.

A chuckle does finally escape me, followed shortly by an amused gasp. It lifts one of its paws oh so slowly, almost as if the apple would retaliate if he moved too quickly. Then his paw came down, swatting aggressively at the fruit. He did it with enough force that he actually sent the fruit rolling off the tray, and if I hand reached to catch it, it would have ended up on the floor.

Cupping my hands I get them under the fruit quick enough to keep it from the harm the floor would have caused it. Then looking up once I'm sure its secure I want to laugh again. The cat is looking over the edge of the table half expectantly to see its victory over the fruit, and half confused that it didn't happen.

Switching my grip on the apple from both hands to one I set it on the tray and use the other to scratch the sensitive flesh beneath its chin, something that pleases it instantly. "I know, I'm not big on apples either."

It doesn't even seem to remember the fruit any more. It sees much more interested in my hands. Rubbing its head against my fingers doesn't even seem to be enough, it actually brings its paw up and grabs hold of my hand. At least it does is much is it can with its lack of thumbs. Its little pads and the claws curl around a finger, the nails poking at my skin but not enough to hurt me. I just smirk is it begins licking and nibbling at my fingers.

At first I assumed it was merely being very affectionate, but is it continues I come to a slightly different conclusion. Its little nips seem more earnest than just love bites. "Oh god, you're hungry aren't you?"

It of course doesn't answer me, not that I expected it to. It does however continue to suckle lightly on the end of my thumb. It makes me feel a bit horrible in the process. _I haven't even named it and already I was neglecting it._

Though I'm being hard on myself in that judgment. Technically I am not to blame for the cats currently empty stomach. I wasn't the one who brought it here after all, I didn't even know it was coming either.

Looking around I try to find anything I can feed it, an action that is quickly protested. In turning around I had pulled my hand away from its reach, something it was not very pleased about. Its plaintive mews gets my attention back.

Now feeling even worse I turn back to it pouting slightly. "Oh, I'm sorry sweetie..." I apologize, scratching it behind the ear for half a second before I scoop it up. "...I'm being such a bad mom, I know." Not that it seems to notice at all now that I'm holding it. It may be hungry but its kneading paws against my shoulder let me now it's very content like this.

I kind of already knew that my search for something suitable to feed a cat would turn up with nothing. Other than that one time I had been given the salmon puffs I have been on a diet of apples. _He would have probably loved to eat one of those puffs too._ But an apple is hardly something to feed a cat. I'm not even sure if its safe to do so, I know some fruits are bad for animals and I can't remember exactly which ones they are.

_Come on, what am I going to do with you?_ The second that thought finishes I come up with an answer, thanks to my eyes. I had been pacing slightly, petting the cat and almost bouncing it a little is if it were a toddler. I always have had a habit of treating animals like they are children. But is the option registers in my mind I find myself hesitating.

The door is a door. It sounds stupid to word it like that, but there's a logic behind it. It's a door, not a wall. That means even though it is a barrier its one that can be opened, one someone on the other side could bring what I need through. Now I just need to ask.

It's easier to think that then do it. I've avoided the door for most of my stay here. I know that what's on the other side could be worse for me than anything in here. But with the press of the cats wet nose against the crease of my ear I am reminded it's not for me that I need to do this.

Adjusting my grip on its warm not so little body to one arm I smile at it even though I know it can't see. "Shh sweetie, we're going to get you something. Don't you worry." I coo in a gentle loving tone that all animals enjoy. _Not that it needs the reassurance._

_After all, nobody's gonna beat the cat for doing something stupid._ Shaking my head I force the nervous thoughts away before they can dig their talons any further into me than they already had. Panicking isn't going to do any good, not for myself or the animal in my arms.

Instead I switch to a different train of thought. _"I'm a brave person, I'm a..." _The words are spoken at the same time is they are thought. Even the opinions on my level of sanity that brings up are not enough to stop me from doing that. _It's just a door, you're only asking for some food. It should be fine._

It's just a wooden surface under my hand and a single solid 'thonk'. I allow silence to follow the knock to give whoever a chance to reply. I'm fairly certain there are people right on the other side, and even if there aren't guards on the door someone should still be able to hear it.

I get no response though After I minute I'm left with the realization that my knock isn't going to receive I reply. So I knock again, this time adding words. "Hello?" There is a small pause that I listen. "Can you hear me?"

For a moment it seems like I am going to receive the same results, at least until I hear what sounds like a rustle or a sigh on the other side._So someone can hear me._ That encourages me to be a little more assertive. "Hello? Please, can I get something to eat? The cats hungry an...!"

I literally jump back at the sound that passes through the door, and the rattling of its hinges from the force. What could have only been a foot slamming into the wood startles me "Shut up!" Before an irritated voice follows.

It startles my companion too. The cat freaks out at my sudden movement is much is the sound. I don't blame the cat for it though, it was only reacting. However its reaction has what feels like a trio of scratches on my arm where it kicked away from me with its hind legs, the claws finding their way through the fabric.

Backing up one more step then the initial shock had made me do I finally stop my retreat. I can still hear the muted grumbling of the man I annoyed on the other side. A man who must overreact to almost everything. While I am aware I'm supposed to stay in this room and be happy with what I have it wasn't like I was asking to leave, or asking that much period. I only wanted to get some food for the cat.

_He could have just said no, like a normal person._ My internal voice has become a bit sarcastic and angry with the man, but it isn't great enough to become my external voice. Is much of a jerk that man is I would prefer that he stays a jerk on the other side of the door.

I have more important concerns than a temperamental soldier, like the stinging sensation taking over my arm from the scratches. Even though the larger part of me wants to find him and make sure he is alright I also don't want to be bleeding on the clothes I've been given in the process.

Pushing back the sleeve of the robe and peeling off what has become my favorite thing to wear here I frown at the sight it revealed. Its hind legs did more damage than I thought or hoped. Before I pulled back the sleeve I guessed at there being three scratches, but it's more along the lines of four and a half. They are deep is well, at least is scratches go. Each one broke the skin enough for blood to bead out of the wound and even trickle past them to smear over my arm.

"Crap..." Using my one available hand I try to arrange the material so it will stay away from the wound, but it doesn't have any actual sleeve I could roll up, the robe is designed to be more like a blanket. It is a reluctant decision but I eventually give in to the fact it would be easier to just take off the robe.

It still proves a bit of a challenge though despite being the easier task. Getting my uninjured arm out isn't much of a problem, however it's a little harder to slip my bleeding arm out, the weight of the material alone making me put a small effort into keeping it from brushing against the blood.

Due to a lack of patience is well is will I let the robe lay over the vanity bench is it drops from my hand to rest there. Folding it with only one hand would be more effort than it is worth and I don't feel like wasting the time, I would only be bleeding longer if I did. Eventually it's going to start dripping off my skin if I give it the chance.

While I may not have any particular aversion to the sight of blood that doesn't mean I'm fond of it either. I want to take care of this quickly both to get it over with, but also because I'm a little worried Loki might punish the cat for it even if it isn't its fault. It would be a situation that could only end badly, because I know that if he tried to hurt it I would try to stop him.

Given my proximity to the wash basin I can tell there is no water in the bowl just by looking. My mind is also busy, trying to recall if when they brought it here whether the pitcher beneath it was filled or not. It comes up with no answer, but my hand does better. Is my fingers wrap around the handle and lift it an inch or so to test the weight I find it much too heavy to be empty.

It isn't really that heavy, even only held in one hand, it however is a little uncomfortable pouring it that way. My wrist straining somewhat is I have to tip it at a greater angle to get the liquid out of it into the bowl. Once that is done though I put it back in its spot on the shelf below.

Removing the remaining glove with the aid of my teeth I let it drape over the towel rack on the side of the wash basin. I will deal with it later, is well is its partner. I hope I can get the blood out of it, though I don't hold is much in terms of doing anything up the state of the silk. The cat's claws tore a few holes in it when it scratched me. I know it's not the one to blame though, that honor is someone-else's.

Positioning my injured arm over the bowl I go about cleaning the blood off. Instead of using a washcloth however though I scoop the water up with my hand, letting it trickle from between my fingers to rinse the blood off. I don't want to risk staining one of the washcloths. Ideally I don't want there to be any evidence left of the blood at all.

That's why the sudden possibility of witnesses has me a little frantic. I had heard the dull rumble of speech coming from beyond the door for at least the last-minute, but I had been ignoring it. It may have been about me, but I didn't think it had anything to do with me. That was until I heard the door begin the process of opening.

My hectic thoughts and actions came to an unsuccessful end is the door opened too quickly for me to do anything but hide my arm behind me. It's like something a child would do when they know they are going to be caught, actually it's exactly like that and the expression on the person's face is it peers around the door matches the scenario.

It's a familiar face that enters the room, or at least starts to. It's the Scotsman, the man whose last name I know is Blackwood but still have yet to learn his first. He takes a step in with a smile on his face and an either a greeting or a question about to leave his lips. That all changes when his eyes notice the situation in the room, specifically behind me. I can see his eyes shift to the bowl of pink water then to the arm he can't see but knows is behind me.

It's a very long instance is I know it before he breaks the standstill. He blinks first, an action immediately followed by an irritated sounding grumble. It makes my mind cling to the first assumption it comes up with, and that is that he is upset with me.

That assumption though dies in my head even is my attempt to defend myself perishes on my tongue. Instead of doing or saying anything to me he backs out of the room, letting the door sway closed of its own will.

I'm not sure what to make of that at first, my mind only confused by the actions. Then something slips into it that makes me worried. What if he thinks I did this to myself. It's not an unreasonable idea for him to have, if I had walked in on something like this situation I might have is well. I'm standing here hiding what is obviously a bleeding limb and looking pretty nervous about it.

Then a worse thought occurs to me. _Oh god! What if he is going to tell Loki!_ That one has my feet moving again, surprisingly less frozen than they had been a second ago, and propelling me toward the door. "Fancy a beatin' did ye? keep thinkin' Ah want tae hear ye gab an' I'll gie ye a reit bonnie smile ye wee jobby. Th' bosses quine is in thaur bleedin' an' someones gettin' it fur 'at, noo swatch up sae Ah can break yer damn jaw next!" Even the furious voices spoken, one with an accent and one less than words beyond it doesn't matter so much is that.

I'm reminded the stupidity of touching that door though whether quickly, which is probably for the best anyway. I managed to get my hands on its handle and open it far enough to see what was going on beyond it. He had another of the soldiers on the floor, one I have to assume was the guard. He has him pinned there, one of his arms trapped under a knee and the other under his opposite boot. His hands are busy too, one of them twisted in the man's collar and the other fisted and aimed for his already bloody face.

At least that's where it was going before he saw me. When his eyes met mine the direction of his hand changed, and so did the rest of his body."Ah! gie back in 'at damn room Lil Hen!" Reaching out he snatches the door out of my grasp even is he rises to his feet and advances on me, leaving the man on the floor to crawl away is he dribbles blood on the floor in his attempts to breathe past a broken nose.

It's an order that is followed without question. I've just been given a very good reason not to disobey him after all, I just watched him beat a mans face in. The evidence of it is still clinging to his knuckles, the freckled flesh dyed with heavy splotches of crimson.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, ..." It comes out in a chant is I back up, my own hands in front of me is if they could possibly protect me from this man if he wanted to hurt me. The idea of hiding my own injury now seems the least important thing in the world. "...I wasn't trying to escape, I'm sorry..." Convincing him of that has taken its place.

He doesn't say anything to my frightened rambling, just goes about shutting the door with more force than entirely necessary. Even after doing that I am not given a response. He just stands there looking at me with an uncomfortable blank expression that is making more nervous is the second tick by.

When a reaction comes I find myself holding my breath just as much is I'm holding my hands. He lets out a sigh, the tense state of his feature relaxing is he speaks. "Ain noo I've gain an' gart ye aw scared again,..." He even looks like he is going to run his fingers through his now loose hair, only pausing when he notices the blood. "...wonderful."

The following seconds are filled with silence, and probably stayed that way if he hadn't chosen to fill them. Taking a step toward me he begins to speak. "Weel lets dea..."They don't get farther is he notices me back up another step, and the frightened expression in my eyes.

"Okay..." He holds his hands up, making the movement slow so is not to startle me, his voice is slow and steady is well. He is handling me in the same way one would if dealing with a frightened animal or a child. I'm not offended by it though, because even in the state I'm in I know it still works.

"...Ah ain't gonna hurt ye Lil Hen... Ah jist want tae swatch at yer injury thaur." He nods to slightly indicate my arm while still keeping his hand up in their innocent position. "Can Ah dae 'at?"

My response is delivered whether quickly, and leave no room for misinterpretation. I shake my head in disagreement, the motion sharper and stronger than it need to be to get the meaning across.

I can say that my lack of cooperation is frustrating him a little, growing is it continues despite his patient endurance of it.

He lets out another slow breath. "Ah probably frightened ye a bit wi' 'at didn't Ah?" He nods toward the door in a sharp small motion while still holding my eyes. "Ye weren't suppose tae see 'at, mah apologies thaur. but Ah cannae lae ye bleedin' loch ye ur okay? "

When the word 'bleedin' left his lips my eyes flicked over to the lingering color on his hands, something he took notice of and came to a conclusion about. "Thes?... " He makes a small gesture with his left hand toward his other indicating the blood before continuing. "Thes what's got ye sae timid?"

I give him another quick nod, this time in agreement. Though the answer is a yes, it's a little more complicated than what a single word can really get out. The blood is making me nervous, but not because its blood. Seeing the blood on his hands has the memory playing in my head of him beating the man on the floor.

He had that man pinned and at the mercy of his heavy fists, that's not really what has me nervous. Seeing the man pinned to the floor under a much stronger foe and obviously in pain and hurt has reminded me of how not so very long ago I was in the same position. In my head I'm the one on the floor, I'm the one helpless and in pain. It's my blood on his knuckles, not that guards.

"Aw reit, aw reit... " He says in his thick accent, a gentle smile on his face is he moves toward the wash stand slowly so as to let me move out of the way, all while never taking his eyes off me and never letting his hands lower. "Weel gie rid ay it 'en. nae mair worries."

His words and tone are meant to reassure me, and to a degree they succeed in that but I doubt ill ever be completely free of reasons to worry while I'm here. It is however still nice to hear, since it means at least for a little while I won't have is much. I think he is aware of that is well is the fact I know it too, that's why he made a point of making it known. _So I knew that he knew._

Is he moves step by step closer to the wash basin I let my feet take me in the direction of the bed. It is not the most comforting destination given that he is a man and I'm alone in the room with him, but it's the one I choose because I think if I had toward the door it will give the wrong idea.

Well I had been a bit more dainty in my efforts to clean my blood off he seems more concerned with just getting it done. He sticks his hands right in the water, not at all concerned with the already pinkish tinge to it or the drops the land on the floor after it is he shakes his hands clean before trying them on his pants.

"See..." He raises his hands again in an innocent gesture to match the smile on his lips. "...no mair, naethin' tae be scared ay "

My expression and general body language must make a whether pathetic impression because he continues, a small frown tugging at his mouth. "Ah ne'er hurt a 'woman' in mah life sweetheart... " He pauses making sure my eyes are his so I can see the truth in them. "...ain I'm surely nae gonna start wi' ye. "

The thoughts in my head are equally opposed to that statement is they are in agreement with it. I truthfully don't think he is going to hurt me, but that nagging sense of paranoia still has the idea stuck running a loop in my mind However when I slow them down and actually think about them I find one conclusion more realistic than the next. "I-I know..."

My very meek and pathetic response is met by his own happy, almost a victorious grin. "Guid, sae waur back tae trustin' auld Duncan again och aye?"

"D-Duncan...?" What is probably the least important part of that sentence it's the one my focus is directed to the most. "That's your name?" It's also one that will probably move the conversation along more than the rest too.

The question gives him pause, and if I weren't still suffering from lingering nervousness I might even find it a little amusing. His hands had begun to lower but after I said that the right one stopped. It instead hovered there, the pointer finger held higher than the rest is his head cocked to the side just a little. By his expression I can tell he is somewhat confused and thinking.

His mouth even opens a crack is if he wanted to say something, but it closes again in a manner that suggest he either forgot or doesn't know how to say it. Then he seems to get whatever is in his head together. "Weel damn...yoo ne'er did gie 'at nam did ye."

It's not a question, that much is obvious. Even if he didn't say it was a soft chuckle and a grin it still came out more of a statement than an inquiry. Because it wasn't a question it also doesn't need an answer.

Before I can even think about giving on he holds out his hand to me. "Duncan. Duncan Blackwood at yer service miss. " There is a moment but only a tiny one before he realizes his mistake, the tense look in my eyes is they focus on his fingers.

"Ah... reit." He actually looks a bit sheepish at the slip up. But instead of dwelling on it, he merely moves his hand up and down is if I actually had taken it. "We'll jist consider it shook an' move oan 'en. Shaa we?"

That accented shall we wasn't about me accepting the long distance hand shake over an actual one. It was more about the state of the skin further up my arm. He said earlier that he couldn't leave me bloody like I was and it seems he hasn't forgotten that.

Nor has he forgotten that it would make me nervous. "Nae toochin' ye, Ah gie it. Ye don't loch it. " Seeing me glance up at his face more than his hands he smirks and nods. "Jist gonna help ye clean up an' wrap it properly. ye okay wi' 'at?"

This time it is my turn to nod. Bobbing my head a little I do my best to force the fearful concerns out of my mind is well is off my face. "I ca-can..." there is one last nervous swallow. "...be okay with that."

My meekly delivered response makes him grin and chuckle for a second before he offers up an explanation to it, one that wasn't exactly what I thought it would be. "Spunk, Ah loch 'at."

_Spunk...? He thinks I have... spunk. _I'm not sure if I should be amused by that, confused, or disturbed. While I am busy pondering it though he has made himself busy, or at least his eyes are.

He is scanning the room quickly, obviously in search of something particular. Yet even is he does that he continues speaking. "Gonna need tae gie ye some bandages by th' swatch ay it..." His eyes focus back on me in a single manner is he finishes his search. "'en we'll clean ye up..." His eyes shift their focus once more, this time to my arm. "An' when Ah fin' it whit ye used I'll be takin' it frae ye."

The response is immediate, and full a lack of sense. "No."

The harsh intensity and conviction in my tone actually makes him pull back a little in surprise. It doesn't last though, a serious and slightly dark look taking over his chocolate eyes. "Wasnae a request hen, Ah fin' th' mark ay a blade oan yer skin its gonna fin' its way intae mah hain."

This response is more deliberate, but still the same is before. "No." Then I add an elaboration. "He's mine. He gave him to me."

His confused repeating of my words gives birth to my own for a second before I realize that he didn't know. I had sort of assumed he was aware of the existence of the cat already, I clearly assumed wrong.

"Yeah..." I say it is I nod, the motions quick but small is I let my eyes do their own scan of the room. "Him." I finally continue, only after my sight lands on the object of its search. His own gaze soon tracks what mine settled on. Two dimly glowing eyes peeking out from beneath the bed watching us intently.

There is a silent pause, only filled by the motion of his eyes blinking twice. Then on the third blink his eyes stay closed and he sighs, his head tilting forward to be stopped by his fingers pushing back. "He gae ye a gremlin."

"Its not a gremlin!" I startled both of us by the intensity in my tone. Once the last syllable of that sentence is finished my moment or righteous indignation is also over. This time my voice is meek again. "He's not a gremlin."

The almost child like tone makes him chuckle in amusement."Spunk loove..." He says, pointing a finger at me with a grin. "...it looks better oan ye, keep it. "

Then he gets right down to business, even though his tone doesn't change. "I'm gonna gang gie ye sae bandages, an' when Ah gie back will fix ye up proper loch." His gaze drifts back to the bed, or more correctly the space beneath it. "An' gie th' demon it ay thaur woods ye? It comes anywhaur mah ankles an' ye aren't gonna loch me sae much anymair."

Hearing that not so subtle threat toward the cat I can feel my protective nature kick in. I have always been very fond of animals, just as much is I have been of children. I've even been accused of being obsessive in my love for them. So the idea of him kicking my nameless new companion has me ready to break his ankle, or at least the wish to if he does it.

He leaves the room after those words, but not before smirking a little at my less than pleased expression. I am sure he can see the threat to hurt him in my eyes. But we both know I couldn't even if I wanted to. It would be a matter of dumb luck if I even managed to bruise him. I'd probably hurt myself more in the process than I would him anyway.

With him out of the room now I find my attention shifted once again. My arm is still bleeding, but it has become sluggish is the blood is clotting over the scratches instead of running freely over my skin. That being said I find myself less concerned with getting anything in it, not that I had been too worried before.

So while I don't make any deliberate attempt to get anything in the thickening blood over the scratches I also make no attempt to avoid it. Kneeling down I rest my palms against the chilly floor, stubbornly pretending it isn't making my hands numb.

My concern is the kitty over all others at the moment. Its gleaming eyes become a bit dimmer is it sinks back cautiously at first, the light unable to reflect of its pupils is it drift further out of the light.

"No, no sweetie..." I call to it softly, letting my voice be is non threatening is possible is I try to encourage it to come out. While I am speaking I am very slowly sliding my hand toward it to so it can sniff it. "...come here, it's okay."

I can't see it but I can hear the swish of his fluffy tail against the ground is he goes through his own little internal debate. He is still cautious from the noise that startled him earlier, and the scent of someone he didn't know in the room. But he slowly overcomes it.

I gently lead him out from the shadows, letting him follow my hand out inch by inch instead of grabbing him. Finally most of him has cleared the space beneath the bed, and with the growing distance his caution has faded too.

Instead of kneeling I have rolled my hips and legs so I am sitting instead now. He wastes no time occupying the hollow space they make, assuming in his logic that I made it for him. His sense of vanity is adorable to me.

"That's my sweet baby, yes you are." Hearing my voice his purring becomes a little deeper. He even begins to lick at my arm, his rough tiny tongue becoming tinged pink is he almost apologetically cleans a drying stream of blood from my skin. "Not a gremlin at all."

* * *

Okay. I'm cutting this one in half, otherwise it's going to be really long. Next chapter is going to be more Nora, the cat, and Duncan interaction.

Also I know its been a bit slow for a while, but I wanted to establish the changing mindset of Nora and to keep it realistic I sort of had to make it slow. So please bear with me, and keep reading. With that said though what do you folks think of this one? Leave a review or a suggestion.

And I found an awesome site that translates accents phonetically! OMG! It's awesome! Below are the English versions of Duncan's speech encase you need it.

* * *

Fancy a beating did you? Keep thinking I want to hear you talk and I'll give you a right pretty smile you little shit. The bosses lady is in there bleeding and someones getting it for that, now look up so I can break your damn jaw next!

Ah! Get back in that damn room Lil darling!

And now I've gone and made you all scared again...wonderful.

Okay... I ain't gonna hurt you Lil Hen...I just want to look at your injury there...Can I do that?

Probably frightened you a bit with that didn't I? You weren't supposed to see that, my apologies there. But I can't leave you bleeding like you are okay?

This?...this what's got you so timid?

All right, all right...we'll get rid of it then. No more worries.

See...no more, nothing to be scared of.

I never hurt a 'woman' in my life sweetheart...and I'm surely not gonna start with you.

Good, so we're back to trusting old Duncan again yes?

Well damn...you never did get that name did you.

Yes. Duncan. Duncan Blackwood at your service miss.

Ah... right. We'll just consider it shook and move on then. Shall we?

No touching you, I get it. You don't like it. Just gonna help you clean up and wrap it properly. You okay with that?

Spunk, I like that.

Gonna need to get you some bandages by the look of it...then we'll clean you up...and when I find out what you used I'll be taking it from you.

Wasn't a request darling, I find the mark of a blade on your skin its gonna find its way into my hand.

He gave you a gremlin.

Spunk lovely...it looks better on you, keep it.

I'm gonna go get you so bandages, and when I get back will fix you up proper like. And get the demon outta the dark would ya? It comes anywhere my ankles and you aren't gonna think me so friendly anymore.


	21. Day 5: part 4

Here is the continuation of the last chapter. Tried a new POV for all you wonderful readers. Let me know how you like it.

I do not own Marvel. I only own the few characters I have created, namely Nora and Duncan, and the cats.

* * *

"Guard th' _'hot chick'_ bosses hen, sure I'll dae 'at..." I grumble is I pull out my knife and let the blade carve through the cardboard to reveal the contents within. The 'hot chick' part is wisely kept in my head and out of my mouth, not that is really a secret though.

You don't need to be a genius or a crazy manipulative mastermind to know every man here thinks she is gorgeous. You only need to have eyes. The lady is pretty, even outside the opinions of sexually deprived 'soldiers' she would be considered at least higher than a seven.

So yes when the boss told me to guard the lady I had no problem with taking that job, god knows I have had far worse tasks given to me than spending time with a beautiful woman.

_But he had to go and give her a damn cat._ "Fool smellin' lood moothed bipolar wee heel spawns..." Tucking my knife back in its sheath I bend the flaps to the side, one at a time and even creasing them so they don't close back up on me.

Not that it was really worth that much effort. The second box is opened up, I only take the time to snatch one of the cans out of it before shoving it in my vest pocket. Waste of good food for a damn cat if you ask me, but I know she is gonna want it.

The moron whose face I remodeled said she was whining about having a 'hungry pussy'. He figured out that was the wrong word to use real quick.

Now I'll hurt or kill a female just is quick is I would a male if the situation called for it. But being a female is different than being a woman. A gender is a gender, simple is that. I don't give out special treatment based on what parts you're born with. Only 'men' or 'ladies' get any kind of special consideration from me, and that's because they earned it.

So when the moron not only had the lack of sense to talk about a lady like that in front of me let alone the bosses lady, while lets just say I might have put in a little more oomph then what was strictly necessary to do my job.

_It's a real pity though I didn't get to break his jaw._ I had every intention to do it too, but that wasn't something I could let the lady see. Even if the boss hadn't told me not to I would have tried to keep it from her sight anyway. Wouldn't have been right at all, ladies shouldn't have to see violence like that.

_Specially her._ I heard the rumors about how she got here, and I know they are more than rumors. I saw that knife happy bastard carry her in here. All bloody and limp in his arms. Now I haven't actually confirmed whether he was the one who did that to her or not, but I don't really care to. I'm sure enough that he did, and that's good enough for me.

Not that I need more of a reason to not like the guy. He tried to pop my head off after all. The man has to be several levels of unhinged if that seems a reasonable response to trying to keep a lady from falling, even if he is under some sort of mind control.

Kinda pisses me off a little actually. That psycho carved her up like a bird, but she cried buckets for the bastard, I heard her do it and saw it on her cheeks. He almost killed her, and she still calls him 'friend'. _He doesn't deserve that title anymore._

I shake those thought away, and the tempting blood drenched fantasies as well. I'm not here to think. It's not my job to have an opinion. I don't have to like what's going on around here, I only have to keep my head down and do is I'm told. I'm paid to be an extra set of hands and muscle, so that's all I need to do. It's just like any other job. People never hire mercenary's for their opinions. _Shame, since I have some damn good ones too._

With the can of food squared away in my pocket I take one more second to adjust the first aid kit I tracked down under my arm. I'm tired of being out here already. The company of these idiots is wearing on my nerves. I can feel a few of them watching me intently. They are not so silently imagining what it would feel like to kick my ass, a stupid idea inspired by a stupid sense of loyalty to that fool and his broken nose.

I have the promise of much more pleasant company and scenery waiting for me back beyond that door though, and the best part is its my job now. I think that has them itching to take me on a little too. _Jealousy. Gotta love it, makes men idiots now matter where you are._

That's okay with me though. Let these assholes be jealous, they should be. Let them be jealous enough till one of em try's to do something stupid. I'll give them a damn good reason to never do it again after that. Nothing teaches better in an example, and when one of them does screw up ill make a hell of an example out of him that's for sure.

Reaching the door after retracing the short trip my supply search had taken me from it I don't knock, but I make the sound of me opening it louder than it needs to be. I want to let her know I was coming, but I don't want to startle her or the creature I'm sure she is probably holding.

… _Tiny. Little. Hellspawn .._ I did have a smile on my face is I opened the door, but now it's fading into more of a frown. The second my eyes cleared the door they are met by its own beady little green ones.

"You know..." Her voice draws my attention away from the wicked little creature that has occupied her lap and is practically glaring at me to a more pleasant view. "...it's never going to like you if you glare at it like that."

I let out a small snort of amusement at those words, the notion to ridiculous for me to even bother trying to hold it in. "Ye say it loch Ah want th' hin' tae loch me."

I watch is her brows draw together in a look somewhere between confusion and annoyance is I step further into the room and shut the door behind me. It's actually kind of cute and the slight pout she has doesn't help. _Pity she belongs to an asshole._

"Well why wouldn't you?" I really should have expected that question but somehow I didn't. I was even caught off guard enough by it for a second that all I did was blink. It took about three of them before my mind turned back on. In those three blinks she is looking at me, seriously wanting to know the answer to what I think should be obvious. "It's a moggie."

"A...? A moggie?" She repeats back with an incredulous smirk. She has been doing pretty good with the accent thing for an American, but there's still nothing to be done about slang. A word you don't know is always going to be one no matter the accent.

Giving the door a little tug to make sure the latch has clicked into place I now feel comfortable leaving it. Not that I think she is going to try anything while I'm here, she seems to smart a girl for that. Stepping across the room I look at her "Cat loove, it means cat." But never completely take my eyes of the fur ball.

By the look on her face as she turns her eyes back to the cat its obvious she is thinking about something, that's not what has me curious though. It's how long she seems to be thinking about it is I cross the room. She is still doing it is I all but reach the bed next to her.

"Moggie huh..." Then she looks back up at me, with a grin that makes me feel just a little concerned. "...that's gonna be his nickname."

She must have some sort of skill at this because I find myself again stopped, but this time I'm the one with a smirk. "Ah dornt hink sae sweetheart."At the sound of my voice her face turns up to meet my glancing down one, the tiniest playful tug at the corner of her lips giving away her teasing intent.

"Oh come on..." She says with a bit of a chuckle before her eyes start to turn back to the cat. "It's a cute nickname don't you..." The cat who is swishing its tail in an agitated manner while still curled up in her lap, its evil little eyes staying fixed on me.

"See... e'en creepy haur doesnae loch it." I tell her, while making a point to keep at the very least one eye on the creature. I wasn't kidding before. That thing takes a shot at me and ill send it into a wall. I'm not about to screw around proving who's the bigger man, let alone with a cat.

"He's not creepy." She tells me sternly, almost looking and sounding like a scold mother to a loudmouth kid. It's cute actually, that she has enough spirit left in her after whatever they're doing to her. I'm not a fan of cocky bitches who think they're too big for their skin, but I still like a woman to have a personality.

Then her eyes turn back to the cat, and so do her hands even though her words still seem for me. "He's just protective..." She informs me is she pets the beast, making it purr even though it's still watching me carefully. "...it's probably your smell."

That gets an eyebrow raised, and it doesn't take her longer than that to become embarrassed and feel the need to justify her words. "I-I mean, you probably smell like blood, and oil and..."

I just chuckle and continue the list for her, putting her out of her misery for a moment. "...ain metal an' gunpowder an' auld sweat." Looking at her I smirk and wink. "Relax Bonnie, Ah ken whit Ah reek loch. Fur balls jist bein' honest."

I don't miss the way her demeanor suddenly shifts after I finish saying that. She had been friendly and even a little playful before, but now she seems to have shrunk back into herself. "P-Please don't say that..." She is avoiding my eyes but I don't need to see them to recognize she looks scared.

"Say whit exactly hen?" I keep my words calm and steady for the time being, I'm not sure exactly what spurred this change but I don't want to upset her more. My movements are kept the same way, each step carefully and slow is well is my hands is I remove the first aid kit from under my arm to set on the bed.

"I..." Her eyes flit up to mine before looking back away. "I know what Bonnie means..." Her posture is stiff and small. She has pulled her shoulders in and her spine is curved to make her surface area less. Even her voice is small. Everything in her demeanor says frightened. "You shouldn't say that, you should leave before he..."

I don't need to hear the rest to figure out just what's got her upset. Shifting around still in a careful manner I sit down next to her on the bed, pushing the white tin out of the way and offering a warning look to the feline before I try to catch her jittery attention. "Hey..."

The attempt doesn't really succeed but I know she is listening. "Sweetheart, ye got naethin' tae fash yerse abit, boss knows aam in haur. Tauld me tae be okay?"

That gets her attention back where it should be. Giving her a very reassuring smile I carefully reach to pull my keys out, but give her a warning first. "Naethin' silly noo..." I tell her before showing them to her. She may be a smart one but temptation is still tempting.

She agrees to those terms with a quick nod, giving me her silent promise not to try anything. That's enough for me. Unclipping the keys from the D ring I lift them up to an easy viewing level. "See? Got th' VIP pass reit haur." I say it that way hoping to lighten the mood back up, and it works. A chuckle leaves her, it's small but it's still a chuckle.

"Ah! See." I say with a grin is I re clip the key and let my other hand gesture with a little excitement is it points at her. "Ah got ye tae smile. Kent Ah coods dae it." Then I chuckle, and say the next part singsong like. "Ah can see ye blushin'." That only makes the pink in her cheeks all the brighter.

I laugh a little more is she turns away, trying to deny it by hiding her face from my sight. She has even settled into using the kitty is a distraction, making it very happy is she earnestly pets the damn thing. I let it go, not really caring. At least until its licking starts turning into nibbling. "Eh, that's enaw ay 'at. Mah turn noo."

By her startled expression and the way she is moving her hand in the opposite direction of my I can't help but come to a very amused reaction. "Och bludy heel lassie, Aam nae gonna lick yer hain." The blush she was trying to get rid of is now back with force.

"I really wish you would stop doing that." I can't tell if it's on her expression since I'm turned away and opening the first aid kit at the moment but I can hear the pout in her soft-spoken word. Not chuckling at that takes an effort.

"'En quit givin' me them hen." I manage to get out mostly level, then turn back to face her. Looking her in the eye I motion with my unburdened hand for hers, and encase there was any confusion I say it too. "Hain please."

I can see her hesitation but I don't push it. I was made aware about the whole touching thing after I was 'made' aware. I didn't know that the whole don't touch her thing was more than just because she is the boss's woman. Though truth be told I probably would have done the same thing even if I had, it was kind of an automatic response. See a woman falling you catch her. _First time in my life that was a bad idea._

Giving her the time to do it herself proves the best option, even if she doesn't do it exactly like I said. Instead of putting her hand in mine she just holds her arm out, letting it hover in place instead of resting in my hold. Probably is the smartest decision anyway, or at least the less risky one. I get the feeling that no touching thing might go both ways.

Tending to her scratched up arm though is delayed, by the thing the\at put them there. Seeing her hand out there the cat vainly assumed its out there for it. Despite my irritated look it continues to get in the way.

It has shifted from lying in her lap to sitting, and at the moment is rubbing its head against her fingers earnestly. _Like it doesn't get enough attention already._

I'm half tempted to take it and toss it out of her lap right then and there, but I know how that will end. Is annoying it the critter is it's not worth pissing off the woman in the process. Instead I decide to go with a different course of action. It's one I don't like already too, since I know its gonna give her the wrong idea.

Disregarding her hand for a second I put my own to work. Reaching into the pocket of my vest I let my fingers find and retrieve the can. The cat hasn't noticed yet but I can already feel her attention on me. There is a moment of mental groaning at that. _I hate misconceptions._

Ignoring her and the cat I just continue on with my task. Well I may not be looking at them however that doesn't stop me from hearing. Is soon is the sound of that pull tab lid reach's its ears the fuzzball is suddenly very attentive, and so is its nose. Thing damn nearly crawls in my lap.

It would have to if I keep the can up there any longer. Instead I quickly drop it on the floor, the round surface teetering on its edges off balance for a moment before it settles into a flat upright position. The cat is right behind it too, and then pursues it further is a tap from my boot has the canned tuna skittering across the floor.

"Nae. A. Wuid." The words are out before I even turn back around to look at her. I'm greeted with silence like I asked, but even without speaking I can very clearly see her remark. She has her hands up in an innocent gesture, but her lips are trying and failing to restrain the grin.

It falters even more is I continue to hold the gaze silently with a bit of a glare. Her hands coming up higher and closer to her chest at the same time. Then my own slips up. The edges tugging up into a tiny grin is I huff and shake my head. "Jist gezz yer arm awreddy woods ye?"

She does is requested and this time there's no spoiled critter getting in the way. I can hear the fur ball somewhere behind me devouring the tuna, its little mouth munching loudly and the scraping of the can is its efforts push it across the floor.

Now that her arm is held back out in the same position is before I can get to work. First things first however I'm going to have to clean off the scabbing blood. Instead of getting up an bringing that bowl from the wash basin over here I decide to just dump out the contents of the tin between us and use that. The water from my canteen will work just is well.

Setting the white metal container on my lap for the time being I unscrew the lid. It only takes a few turns before the tracks of it are free from each other, and the plastic strip holding it to the bottle springs it the rest of the way open.

With that done it only takes me a second to pour a sizable amount into the tin box and hold it out to her, along with a folded amount of white cotton. "Thes part ye gie tae dae loove." I let her know with a pleasant smile, getting rid of any worry's she has about touching is I say it.

She takes them right after her mind processes those words, and gives me a soft smiling nod is she does. Setting it in her own lap I watch is she very carefully begins the process of cleaning the red from her creamy colored skin. Is that comes into my head I immediately try to push it out. _Really __don't need to be thinking about the boss's girl like that. _Even if her skin is soft and her hands look awful gentle.

_Okay, time for something to distract me. _Lifting my eyes away from the way she is dripping water and running the cloth over her flesh I bring them to her face. Not that that's any better since she has a pretty face too. "Sae 'en, diz th' bosses lassie got a nam? Ur ur ye fond ay hen?"

The question seems to startle her a bit. Those sweet green eyes of hers widening is they shoot up to meet mine. There is a storm of things dancing em them, coming and going in the blink and far too quick to make sense of. One thing is a bit obvious though. I get the feeling I said something wrong.

Her eyes drifted back down away from mine almost is soon is they met them. They are looking back at her hands, and her knuckles. Her hands have become tight and tense around the tin in their hold, the skin over the joints white from the strain. Her voice however is almost shockingly calm in comparison.

"The bosses lady does... Its Nora."

* * *

So there is twenty one. How was it? How was Duncan? He is kind of a character i made up on the fly so opinions or critiques on his character and personality are welcome and appreciated. I try to keep my characters well rounded over all.

Also here is the dialogue for him without the accent if anyone needed it.

* * *

Guard the '_hot chick' _boss's woman, sure I'll do that...

Foul smelling loud mouthed bipolar little hell spawns...

You say it like I want the thing to like me.

It's a moggie.

Cat love, it means cat.

I don't think so sweetheart

...and metal and gunpowder and old sweat. Relax beautiful, I know what I smell like. Fur balls just being honest.

Say what exactly darling?

Hey...sweetheart, you got nothing to worry about, the boss knows I'm in here. Told me to be okay?

Nothing silly now...

See? Got the VIP pass right here.

Ah! See. I got you to smile. Knew I could do it. I can see you blushing.

Eh, that's enough of that. My turn now.

Oh bloody hell girl, I'm not gonna lick your hand.

Then quit giving me them darling. Hand please.

Not. A. Word.

Just give me your arm already would ya?

This part you get to do love.

So then, does the boss's girl got a name? Or are you fond of darling?


	22. Day 5: part 5

Well here's yet another chapter for you. Still to this day I do not own Marvel (why god why!?). Anyways Nora, Duncan, Jareth, and the still unnamed cat (who I have a name for btw lol) are mine.

That said. Read on.

* * *

"Hmm." Smiling softly I take in the sight before me, finding it interesting enough to delay my complete entry in to the room. Lingering in the door frame for a moment I find my eyes pulled to the bed, the search for the woman bringing them there quickly.

The delay in my steps has though been a small one. Turning slightly I push the door closed once more. The sound of the latch clicking home alerting at least one of the occupants of the room to my presence.

Is I walk closer on quite steps I can see a pair of alert ears come into view, then a pair of bright green eyes. Getting a little closer I find it necessary to issue a small command. "Shh" The word is almost completely silent, but accompanied by my finger pressing against my lip.

The feline obeys the order for silence, but its excitement at seeing me is quickly directed to a different outlet. Is I get closer it rises and stretches from its curled up position, its spine arching dramatically upwards before it extends itself outward is well. Then with its muscles thoroughly relaxed it meets me at the edge of the bed, pacing in small circles almost impatiently.

I offer it a small chuckle before I offer it my hand is well. It wastes no time, putting his own effort into the petting. I have always found animals whether easy to enchant, and the feline here is no different. Though there are certain conditions that make it more or less of a challenge.

An animal with a disagreeable personality requires more effort to charm, sometimes it is not even worth the hassle, the trouble to control them measuring more than the task I would use them for. I find that domesticated creatures are the easiest which is no surprise. Animals that are of a herd or pack nature are also easily controlled.

Though there are a few more interesting things I have noticed. I am not quite sure why exactly it is so, but I have noticed that it is easier to control a creature of the same gender is myself. It also seems that those closest in terms of physical maturity require less effort. Most peculiar of all though is this, animals of similar appearance to my own are more susceptible to being influenced is well.

It was for that reason I was very specific in the type of companion I wanted for her. I gave that soldier orders to bring back a male animal with long black hair and green eye. It was to be one that had reached adulthood but not yet considered elderly. The fact that she had a fondness for felines decided the species, as I was not very concerned with that.

Becoming a more active participant in the petting makes the creature even more happy, a purr now escaping it. Its fondness of me is only part because of the enchantments I placed on it. It seems to be a very affectionate animal even without any outside influences.

Letting my fingers run through its fur once again I allow my eyes to drift closed, but only after I make sure that hers show no signs of opening. I would not want her to suspect there is anything unusual about this cat. Having her unaware of its modified nature makes its purpose much easier to accomplish.

Now satisfied that she still sleeps soundly I let the magic reemerge. The feline stills almost instantly, its body relaxing into a calm sitting position is my hand rests over its head. The energy and their intentions shifting between us again is I let them filter into my mind.

It's a little strange it sensations go. Animals perceive and think of things in a different manner than we do. Its even varied among the species is well. A lizard does not see the world in the same way is a fowl, nor an insect as a canine. With that in mind it takes my consciousness a moment to make sense of its foreign one and the information I am getting from it.

There also needs to be some effort applied to sorting out what it considers important. What I find worthwhile to take note of is not the same to it. While its focus was on simpler things like food and attention I am more concerned with its lesser concerns, like the sequence of sounds that meant little to it but mean much more to me.

Translating the sounds back into words I commit them to memory, giving me access to knowledge I would have otherwise not have had available. _What a useful little spy._ A simple enchantment really, one that gives me access to its memories and thereby allows me to a certain degree of knowledge I would not have otherwise had.

Well she has begun to open up to me in certain ways there is still much ground I have not gained. However I am well aware of a woman's fondness for animals, and their tendency to share their thoughts with them. _It would be a mistake to let an opportunity like that to go unexploited._

I can see her moments of musing after my departure, followed by her amusement at the antics of the cat. Then there is her concern for it, and her attempt to take care of the problem.

The results of which are far from pleasing to me, though the way the mercenary handled it afterwards does lessen my irritation.

My perspective on things becomes a little inconvenient at this point. Since I am seeing these things from the cat's point of view it doesn't help that at this point it had taken to hiding under the bed.

I can smell the blood thanks to the creature's sharper nose, and hear her speaking is well is her movement. While the cat doesn't understand it my mind can make sense of the distress in her tone and then come to an assumption is for the reasons behind her actions.

I can hear the conversation between them, and the various shifts it goes through is well. I even take notice of his distaste in this particular species of mammal, and well I am not entirely sure is to what a gremlin is I can tell by his tone it is something foul.

At this point the perspective shifts again is she successfully coaxed the nervous creature from its hiding place. I find myself pleased and even enjoying the manner she does so, both for my own reasons and because the animal did is well. There is a certain quality to her actions, and well she may not be aware of it and its implications I am.

I find myself enjoying the memory of the moment for another reason is well. I can feel her touch in it. It is perhaps not the most innocent of appreciations, but I do find myself pleased with it all the same. She has no qualms about running her slender fingers through the animal's fur, no fear of offering it affection and receiving it in kind.

I even must admit I find myself with jealous thoughts directed toward the small animal for that. It is a whether foolish sounding notion, and one I will not admit to but to myself. That doesn't make it any less true however. I want to feel her touch and from more than a second hand account.

That distasteful emotion extends to the man is well. The mercenary from some place I care about so little its name seems even unimportant to me. I can see the interplay between them, and am equally pleased with it as I am annoyed.

I choose that man to guard her because I knew he would do the job well. Her assassin could also do it but under the scepters influence he is far too violent. His abilities are better suited to other uses at this point. It is much the same with the scientist, I have better applications for their skills and knowledge.

I picked him because he already knew better than to do anything to her, the consequences were already shown to him. But beside that I could also tell he would be someone she could interact with. Despite his occupation there is a gentleness and a pleasant manner to him. He also has a somewhat chivalrous nature. That and his ability to silently follow orders made him an excellent choice, one that I'm more than confident will give me the results I want.

_Though that might be a setback _In the memory's of the cat I've come to a part where the mood shifts again. The felines memory is focused on the devouring of some kind of fish, but my own focus is on the words it's not paying much attention to.

The soldiers in their ignorance have formed their own conclusions about the status she holds in this place, and the mercenary in his own it seems to operate under the assumption it was not only correct but also known to her.

After that moment her attitude to him and her demeanor in general have changed. While she does not actively evict him from the room it is obvious even to him that she would whether be alone. He does make the attempt to lift her mood once more, but it does not succeed. Instead after bandaging up the small injury to her flesh he soon decides that leaving for now the wiser choice.

What I see following that does not need much analysis. Though at least an hour or more passes between his departure and my arrival there is very little that occurs. Her expression has become numb, almost resigned looking is she retreats silently into herself. The only actions she takes in that time are to take up the cat in her arms once more and curl up under the covers with it, her fingers trailing contentment through its fur until she falls asleep in the process.

Having seen all that is of importance I linger in its mind a little longer, directing a bit more energy into it, fueling its secondary purpose before pulling back from the tiny creature's mind. I watch is it blinks a little then gives itself a shake. Indeed I feel somewhat compelled to do the same, its presence in my head must feel just is strange is my own in its.

That done I smirk is it begins licking its paw, the sensation of magick now doubt feeling a bit odd to it and its perceiving it is ruffled fur. Patting it once more on the head I look back at her, still sleeping in what 'appears' to be a peaceful manner. Though given the memory's from the feline I am not entirely sure how true that is.

Her position remains much the same is what I saw it as in the animal's mind. Beneath the heavy and plush layers of the blankets I can see the outline of her shape. She is still laying in a somewhat relaxed fetal position. Her right hand is tucked up under her cheek, providing more support than the pillow beneath it seemed enough to.

Her left hand however is outstretched in front of her face and is the only noticeable difference in the vision. Where it once rested against the body of the cat it has now taken to just resting without purpose, peeking out from beneath the layers and showing off the very ends of the white linen strips wrapped around her skin.

* * *

Another Loki chapter for you good folks. Hope you liked it. Is usual though I can't have these be frequent or long, otherwise I'd be giving away stuff too soon. But I'm trying to do other POV's and keep it from being too slow. Also, I know I've promised a Clint POV, don't worry its coming.


	23. Day 5: part 6

Do I really need to keep saying I don't own the Marvel verse? Cause I don't own the Marvel verse. I only own Nora, Duncan, Jareth, and the other kitty so far.

So with that said, read on.

* * *

Consciousness is a stubborn creature, and at the moment so am I. I'm vaguely aware somewhere in the back of my mind that I am sleeping right now, but I'm lacking any desire to change that.

I'm content. Some small part of me knows I am dreaming, but this time the dream is dark. Not in a frightening sense by any means, just without image. The is no sound either. All there is as a sense of contentment. _There is nothing in the world I want because there is nothing in the world left worth more._

I'm not sure exactly what that thought means, but I don't even feel the need to question it. It's a fact to me, I have everything I could possibly want in this place. Whatever it is matters not because nothing could ever compare.

I am happy and at peace in this place. Everything feels perfect. Not even the cold little body against me is enough to disturb that. _Such a precious thing._I am not worried about the cold because I know I can remove it. Shifting in the abyss I merely pull them closer, wrapping the little form to me under my blankets. My warmth is its warmth. _I would always give that._

* * *

_Perhaps the setback may not be is large is I imagined._ While I am still quite aware that she remains unconscious her actions offer a sense of promise.

I knew it would rouse her eventually but I still made my efforts is delicate is possible to hold off the inevitable for is long is I could. Very carefully I sat down at the space between her arm and the head of the bed. I made sure the mattress did not shift to much or groan is my weight settled on the edge. I even allowed a pause to occur, waiting to see if she would show any signs of being disturbed.

When I received none after a minute I continued on toward my goal. Pushing back the heavy layers of the blankets I slowly uncover her bandaged arm, and delicately tuck the edges down around her form so the cold air of the room does not conquer the heat she has accumulated in her sleep.

With that done I then very slowly slip my fingers under the small hollow of her wrapped wrist. My intention is to see what exactly the damage is beneath the cotton layers, and perhaps even heal it before she awakens. That intention though becomes quickly much less important and is replaced by pleased curiosity by her response.

She did not quite awake, but in her half slumber she still took notice of my touch. The way she reacted to it though would not be one I could say I expected. When she is conscious she shivers and pulls from my touch. This time she has pulled to it though.

Her sleep addled actions are slow and a bit clumsy but still very clear. Her arm shifts from its limp position in my grasp to an active one and I soon find her fingers wrapping their way around my wrist.

The strength behind her attempt is almost none existent and in fact if I had a mind to it would not take me even a little effort to resist them. I can find no reason nor desire to do so. Instead I let her lead me to where she wants me, and once done I cannot help but smile.

She has pulled my arm close to her, the fingers of it curled in a loose ball beneath her chin and the arm itself almost pressed against her chest. She holds it in a manner that suggests she finds comfort in it is much is she offers comfort to it.

I have a very strong suspicion that in her sleeping state she has mistaken my touch for that of the cat and has pulled what she thinks the small creature into a cuddle.

Yet is I watch her lips move in a soft murmur with an equally soft voice I can't help but let my smile grow. "K-Ke-n-enn...a" _Or perhaps something better._

* * *

"Mnnn...no ...deus..." It's not so much a word as a sound that comes out of me but it still conveys a sense of protest. Moving the hand that was beneath my cheek I shift to brush away the tail of the cat, its brushing against my hair and making my scalp feel cold. While I am doing that I also have my other arm pulling it a little tighter to tuck under my chin.

Both these actions stop whether quickly when I realize a few things, a few very important things. For example, a feline tail isn't usually so solid. They're usually whether soft and fluffy, not chilly and hard. Then too is the fact that cat generally don't feel like leather and metal would you cuddle them.

They don't smirk tensely when you suddenly release them and almost throw yourself back in your surprise either. "Good morning to you too."

The reaction was more instinctive than anything really, and now that my mind has begun processing the situation I am finding the urge to bolt out of the room much less tempting. I'm actually whether happy about that too since acting logically has a way of keeping me out of trouble.

Instead of acting on my desire to jump off the bed and escape only to the locked door I go with the smart route. Bring both arms up I rest my hands against the mattress and push myself into an upright sitting position while making a point not avoid any further contact with him.

"G-Good morning." I say back, making the effort to offer him a smile is well is eye contact. But I only manage it for a second. Duncan's words and the storm of thoughts in my head seeming is intense and fresh is when I fell asleep. _The bosses lady..._

The bosses lady. The sentence itself is whether harmless, three words with three meanings arranged in a specific manner. It's only when the human mind analyzes them that they become powerful and dangerous. They become words of ownership and possession, and when I put my name to them they became words of acceptance. _I didn't even try to argue against them, I just gave into the idea._

What would be the point anyway? I know there's nothing I could do about it. It that's really the reason I'm here I don't think anything I say or do will change that and even if it did I would probably only be putting my friends in danger in the process. The only real choice I have is to accept it. _And that's frightening._

I can feel his eyes on me in the silence that follows, but despite knowing I should I can't bring myself to look back at him this time. It produces the potential consequences I expected quickly, beginning with a frustrated sigh.

"I sent that man to you as a companion and guardian, yet in the span of a few hours I return to find you injured and afraid. Tell me what he has done."

While his tone stays calm throughout each word I still find myself stiffening up at them. It doesn't need to sound angry for me to know it is. Just like I don't need the implied threat to be actually spoken to know it is there.

The idea of him hurting Duncan has me reacting quickly, but without much thought and I quickly regret my words. "No! Please! He only did this!" I whimper out hastily is I lift my bandaged arm up for his view, only afterwards realizing the wrong assumption that could give him.

I'm not sure why I'm so upset at the idea of anything happening to him. Logically I shouldn't be, I barely even know the man. Emotionally though it is a different story. That's not to say I love him or anything though. I just never liked to see others get hurt, especially on my account. But also, and this is probably the biggest reason, he is 'normal' to me.

He treats me nicely, and humanely. Unlike with the others I don't feel like I'm a possession when he is around. I also don't feel threatened by him, at least in general. There was that moment when he thought I was trying to make a run for it, but that was really the only time. He gives me a sense of familiarity and stability in this place and I don't want to lose that.

The darkening look of his expression doesn't make it any less distressing, and my rambling explanation continues on. "No! I-I mean, he didn't hurt me. He fixed me up. He saw I was hurt and-and he took..."

"Shh..." The hand that reaches out is intended to comfort me, but I can help but stiffen up and tremble a little is it rests itself against my arm. I can tell by his expression that he hasn't missed that either, though for now he does not bring it up. Instead he reassures me of something else. "I told you, I do not want you to see me as only a cruel man."

My meek nod though it's not enough of a response however and he lets me know it whether quickly. "Arnora, look at me."

This time despite my desire not to I do is I'm told. I am feeling very nervous and anxious but an order is still an order. Forcing my eyes up from my lap I turn them to his and make them stay there, letting my hands become the thing I show my worry in by the way they are gripping the blankets.

Of course none of this is missed by his attentive eyes, I can tell by the slight frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Tell me what is wrong. Please."

The last word of his sentence matches the first word of mine. "Please Loki, what am I to you?"

The frown deepens to a more confused expression he looks at me. "I do not understand, I have told you. You are Vanir, you are..."

I know it's risky is well is horribly rude to interrupt him but I find myself doing it anyway. "No, not what you think I am..." I have to pause at this point because I can feel myself loosing my resolve and need to take a moment to get it back. "Am I your woman, is that what you're going to make me?" I tried really hard to keep it out, but my voice still shrunk and cracked at the end.

His reaction did not help. At first his face just remained neutral, but then slowly I watched the anger seep into it. "Is that how you see me?"

I can tell right away I screwed up and I immediately make an attempt to fix it, but I don't get anything out beyond his name. "Quiet."

His tone is calm but biting, and very effective. My voice shrinks back into me is well is my body trying to mimic the attempt is he continues."Do you honestly see me as a beast about to set upon you? Am I nothing but a monster in your eyes?! A nightmare!"

Is his voice continues to rise I can no longer keep mine silent. I want to get away from him but to do so I would have to move closer, so instead I bring my hands up defensively and almost whimper out a plea for mercy and understanding. "Please Loki, I'm sorry I'm sorry, you are scaring me please."

At that last part he lets out a frustrated hiss beyond clenched teeth before rising abruptly of the bed pacing. Now with him moved away from me I make the attempt myself. I hadn't before, a decision based on some king of instinctive knowledge. _In the face of a predator, prey has a better chance if it doesn't move._

But he only paces a few steps before he turns back to me, only long enough for me to scoot back a few inches toward the corner of the headboard and the wall. Maybe not the wisest direction but my decisions are happening a bit too quickly for wisdom.

Even afraid though I notice the shift in his demeanor yet again. He stands there now, eyes closed and taking a deep slow breath. Then he speaks is his eyes meet mine again. "Oh my little one, if only you knew how your words wound me." His tone is full of heartache is his eyes, if not more.

His suddenly gentle tone though still isn't enough to stop the flinch is he moves forward yet again. I can see it out of the corner of my eye, his slight hesitation is he notice my own reaction before he continues on. I know I should try to be strong and brave, but I still can't help but find myself feeling a lot like I imagine a rabbit would. While Loki himself has never really hurt me I don't doubt for a second that he could.

I can feel his weight settle back on to the edge of the bed, and from the corner of my vision I can see it is well. There is a small moment where nothing happens, but is brought to an end by his sigh and further words. "...Deeper than a blade..." Then with his touch.

Right away I found myself pulling away, but I didn't get that far. His fingers wrapped their way around my wrist stopping the motion before it even gained an inch. There grip is steady but not harsh. "Shh... its alright." Just like his voice.

"Loki please..." My small pleading tone is only met by his calm one once more is he continues, this time sounding a bit hopeful but disappointed all at the same time, like he knows the answer won't be the one he wants. "Is the idea of me that repulsive to you?"

His free hand comes up immediately in response to my reaction. He holds it in that universally known gesture of peace and surrender. "It is but a question?" That false sense of hope in his expression seems to deepen. "Do you really think so poorly of me?"

Instead of giving him a direct answer, I go with a slightly more vague response. "I-I ca-can't touch..." The 'like that' of my sentence never makes it out is his voice takes its spot. "And I would not force you, never in such a manner is that!" Its spoken not in anger, but in earnest.

Seeing the doubt lingering in my eyes he makes the effort greater. His hand which had encompassed my wrist now shift higher and wrap themselves around my tight fingers. "You may think me cold, but do not think me cruel." His other hand tucks beneath my chin to make my nervous gaze meet his. "I will never do that to you."

His next words have me wanting to turn away again, though his fingers under my chin make that difficult. "You're too precious to me." They also inspire a meek response from me. "I wish you wouldn't say that."

His smile is well is his tone is rueful. "I know..." Then after a moment he lets a sad smirk pass quickly on his lips before his hands pull back, both from under my chin and my fingers.

They don't retreat far though. His actions shifting in their intentions. "May I look at your injury? ..." He asks is he holds out his hand palm up, his eyes on the bandages off my arm. Instead of taking control of the situation and doing is he pleases he is giving me a choice in the matter this time, a choice to say no and with it a degree of control over my life. "...And if you wish it, I'll explain the soldiers misconceptions."

The next few seconds pass at a crawl, measured out to a tempo of heavy slow breaths is I force another decision on my body.

This time he applies no pressure around my hand is it rests in his own. It's a surprising concession to me because I very quickly pick up on the meaning behind it, he is giving me the chance to pull away if and when I feel like it.

The action is a surprising one to me, perhaps even a bit shocking. While I have been here I have been given quite a few things, but this is perhaps the first time I've been given a real choice in anything.

The surprise quickly turns to embarrassment is I notice his smirking expression at my own. He however makes no attempt or indication of saying anything about it, instead beginning to oh so carefully untuck the end of the cotton.

When his voice reappears I actually find it a pleasant distraction. I had gotten used to having the gloves, and now without them his touch seems more intense even despite his own. "Have you named it yet?"

My initial distraction makes me confused at first for a second before my mind catches up to my ears. "Hm? Oh!" Glancing around I try to locate the life form in question and find it curled up sleepily in the warm imprint my body left, its green eyes watching us behind heavy lids."Its Modeus now."

Hearing its name it decides to investigate, and excuse to be petted again. Getting up it stretches dramatically, first pivoting forward, then back before letting out a big yawn and shaking the last of its nap away.

I almost chuckle at its antics is it prances over to my lap, its head cocked to the side is it regarded Loki curious about what he has done to its mistress before deciding my fingers are far too tempting to keep waiting. It has a similar opinion about my covered legs.

"It has proven to be pleasant company then I take it?" He asks, his eyes shifting up from their task for a second to meet mine before returning.

"Oh, yes..." I say even is I nod, my own eyes drifting down to the black mass of fur pacing and pawing in my lap is it seeks out a comfortable position. "He's very sweet. Thank you again."

He doesn't look up this time, just continues the careful process of removing the wrap without touching my skin at all. "You are welcome, and I am glad you like him, even if he has caused you injury."

At those words my eyes flit to the arm he is working on then to his face in surprise. The bandage is still mostly on and it hasn't been removed from the scratches themselves. However in that second before I can even speak I figure out what happened. "He told you didn't he? You already knew?"

This time he does look up to see the reaction in my eyes, his fingers not missing a beat is they make another pass around my arm, rolling the material is they go. "Yes. He told me. He was... concerned... that you seemed upset, both for his own well-being and your own."

"Right..." I suddenly feel whether foolish and embarrassed at that knowledge and turn my eyes from his in an attempt to hide it till it passes."...I am..." Not that my stammering helps much in that regard.

"Does this bother you? That he told me?" Is his next question. There is a hint of concern in his eyes and he even stops in his task is he waits for an answer.

"Oh, no..." I give him a quick smile, though I can't tell how convincing he finds it is I continue. "It's just I should have figured he would, that's all."

He seems satisfied with that answer and lets his gaze and attention drift back to finishing the last few passes around my arm. Is he does though he offers some dignity restoring words. "You were nervous and fretting, it is hardly an uncommon occurrence."

Is the last syllable of his words drifts into silence the strip of cloth finally gives way, his efforts so delicate it doesn't even tug at the skin beside the beads of half-dried blood there.

The next series of them has me confused, and a little worried. "Now you may find this somewhat foreign, but it is nothing you need to fear." I find myself shrinking back into a slightly smaller mass at them, my movements met with no resistance is my arms are pulled closer to my center.

"W-What are you going to-to do...?" The stammer has returned, but while I find myself showing nervousness he shows the slightest of calm amusement.

"You do not need to be afraid..." He says gently in a manner meant to reassure while he lets one of his hands pin in a circular motion before flipping over. "...Think of it is another gift." After saying this he allows his fingers to leave their curled position and reveal something in their grasp that should not have been there.

Seeing the appearance of what looks like a river rock in his hand has me in a moment of slight shock. Its presence there is confusing to me because while I may have blinked I don't think my eyes were closed long enough for me to miss him pulling something from his pocket or grabbing something. No matter how quick and nimble he is there just shouldn't have been enough time. "How did you...?"

My words earn me a chuckle from him and a smile. "A simple trick, but one that is not important at the moment." Once those words are finished he held out his other hand to me and continues with more. "It is a healing stone. May I?"

My first reaction is a refusal, and I go with it, shaking my head to let him know. I don't know what that is or how it works. For all I know he might want me to eat it.

The immediate distrust I show for it earns more than a chuckle or a smile for him this time, a small bout of laughter escapes him instead. "It is not poison Arnora."

Well he probably meant that to assure me it only reinforces my earlier worry that he wants me to eat a stone, something I am very opposed to doing given my fondness of breathing and generally not dying in an excruciating manner.

Seeing my continued opposition to the idea draws another sigh from him, but his smile remains letting me know it is not in anger but a sense of resignation. "Very well, perhaps a small demonstration will help."

That too makes me a bit more uncomfortable. Something that only increases is I witness him bare his hand and producing a blade from beneath his vambrace quickly introduce the tip to his flesh.

"Stop!" I hadn't meant to say it, let alone so earnestly. Just like I hadn't meant to react physically by reaching out. That reaction though takes a little longer and is enough time for me to realize what I'm doing and stop myself. The hand that was reaching to grab his own pulling back before it can connect.

Now that I've done it at all though I feel the need to commit to it. Though I don't reach for his bare hand again I find my fingers tentatively resting against the armor on his wrist. "Stop, y-your bleed-ding..."

While the words leaving my mouth are gentle and full of concern the ones in my head are a bit different, and directed at myself. _What are you doing?! Don't be nice to him!_ I know better than this, with or without training I know your not supposed to sympathize with your captor. If it ever happens it should only be for show.

But mine is genuine. I can't stand the sight of that knife cutting into his hand, or the small line of crimson beading up around the edges is he lets the blade just linger there, a pleasantly surprised smile taking over his features.

It's not because it him so much is the fact that it's someone in pain. It's a simple fact, I have been always the person who tried to fix up the cuts and bruises even though I knew there would be more. It's also a simple fact that what I did was probably one of the biggest mistakes I could make here.

To my great relief and slight suspicion though he doesn't comment on it directly, and even the expression regarding it doesn't linger long. Instead, all he says is "It's only a little blood..." Choosing to direct his focus toward the wound and not my reaction. "...and only for a moment."

I don't really understand that last part, except that by its tone it seems to be an explanation of some kind. But my attention is drawn away like my hand is his own twists around to expose the stone he never let go of.

He offers me a small smirk before he continues with whatever his task is, shifting his blade to the hand he cut with it, not for a moment seeming concerned with the injury. With it in that hand he proceeds to carve a small piece of the rock off from the main body of it. Then inclining his hand he lets the small piece roll to be caught in his fingertips.

I still don't know exactly what he is planning to do with the chunk of rock held in waiting between his thumb and forefinger but is his eyes rest back on mine it is clear he is waiting to make sure he has my attention. So with no foreseeable alternative or harm I give him a nod of consent, letting him know that whatever he is going to do he can continue now.

The only visible reactions that follow are my own. Is I watch him grind the pebble piece into a powder like substance my attention is immediately pulled to the cut, or the vanishing of it. Taking a sharp breath I can feel my eyes widen is the red line carved into his flesh retreats, like someone is rewinding time. Is the shimmering dust touches it the wound just simply disappears, until it is gone completely.

Is my eyes flit between his and the spot the wound should be I am greeted with his smile and chuckling tone. "If you feel so emboldened you may check, I promise you your eyes do not deceive you though." He says, letting his hand remain outstretched and open to give me a chance to take him up on that offer if I want.

While the idea of touching him still has my nervous nature on its toes I find it at heavy odds with my amazed curiosity. I want to check, because I can't believe it and want to find the secret to this trick. The curiosity wins out, but is still a whether cautious kind.

My reach is tentative and accompanied by quite a few glances between his face and his hand to make sure he doesn't try anything. Each time my eyes meet his they are only met with calm and patience acceptance, not an ounce of threat that he is going to grab me like my phobia would suggest.

Eventually I find myself out of the room to continue, each creeping inch after creeping inch leaving me with only the option left to touch his skin or change my mind.

The first slight brush is followed by me pulling back abruptly, but it was a reaction created more by the fact I forget that he seems to be naturally very cold. I still haven't figured out how that is. In the very beginning I though perhaps his hands were cold because this place is, but every time after they always felt the same and it even seems to extend to more than his hands.

Despite my jerky reaction his hand doesn't retreat, remaining where it was so that I may continue my exploration. He seems content to keep it that way until I give him some sort of indication that he doesn't need to anymore. Now is not that time though.

My hand inches forward once again, and this time while the chilled feeling of his skin is strange to me it doesn't drive me off. Though my touch continues very cautiously and light the contact with his skin is still undeniably real.

His hand is perpetually cold is it usually is but beyond that there is a firmness to his flesh and a softness to his skin. There is also not so much is slight bump where the cut should be. Even when I push a little harder against his palm to check I find nothing to suggest it was ever there, let alone that it is merely well hidden.

Part of me still wants to continue checking for the cut, not quite believing that it isn't there. It is however the smaller part of me. The rest is basically saying 'okay, that's enough. No more touching.' that decision is something I am very okay with, and oddly enough so is he by the words he speaks. "Have you seen enough?"

I immediately look back up to his smiling eyes while I pull back my hand in my lap and give him a quick nod, but only after do I realize there was more to his question than just seeing if my curiosity was satisfied. "Shall we continue then?"

_Eh...crap._ Truthfully I want to say no to that, but I know I am out of any logical reasons to do so. Though that still doesn't stop me from asking one more question. "I-It won't hurt?"

The corners of his smile tug up into a brief smirk before he nods. "No. Though it may tingle for a moment it will not hurt." He says to drive away the last of my concerns then lets his hand come up in invitation, the action repeating his earlier question.

While the desire of the little voice in my head is still resistant and unsure of the idea I ignore it. I really don't have much of a choice, or a reason not to believe him. He seems very concerned with making sure I am well taken care of so it makes sense that this would fall under that concern is well.

Holding out my arm the limb proves much steadier than my eyes. The orbs behind my rapidly blinking lids try to find something safer to fix their gaze on then his, but only for a moment. I fall back on that tried and true safe option of studying my lap.

Choosing to look away however helpful doesn't prevent me from feeling his touch though. For a moment all there is as the sound of fabric moving before his voice reappears, reminding me to remain still is it precedes the actual contact.

In response to his words I give him another nod, letting my eyes stay fixed on my lap is I take in and hold a breath. I thought that would be enough, but after the first trace of a cool finger and the strangely warm after sensation I find that closing my eyes is well made it a little easier.

When he said it would tingle he wasn't kidding. It doesn't itch, in fact its more like a tickle. Though that's not entirely correct either, since I don't feel the compulsive need to pull away from the sensation. I can't really come up with a good comparison for it, only that it is warm even in comparison to him and that it is a series of very small but quick sensations dancing across my skin.

"You may look now..."His voice drifts into my ears is the feel of his fingertips retreat. "...it is done."

My eyes listen to his suggestion without delay, my own curiosity not able to resist the desire any longer. Even the nagging child like annoyance at the idea of doing seemingly doing something because he told me to isn't enough to so much is delay it, not that I would have anyway.

Is soon is my eyes land on my arm they find the wounds completely gone, not just gone but vanished without a trace. There is no scabbing of stains of blood on my skin. There isn't even a pink line to indicate where the scratches were. If I hadn't known they were there to begin with I wouldn't have even believed it. There's no evidence at all.

Even examining the area with my other hand gives me nothing, and unlike when I checked his my touch there is not timid and gentle. After a moment of vigorously rubbing the skin over the area and coming up with nothing I have to concede the scratches are really gone. That doesn't satisfy my other curiosity. "Why... How?"

His eyes are is full of a smiling look is his lips is he gives me an answer. "Magic dear one, the magic of your people."

* * *

Okay, you all know the drill by now. Leave a review. Like for example your opinions on 'Kenna'. What do you think 'Kenna' is going to mean in the story? What's coming next? What do you think that means? Also, there are new pictures at the Photobucket. The link is on the profile for those who don't know about it.


	24. Day 5: part 7

Once again Marvel is not mine, pity that it is. Only Nora, Jareth, Duncan, and Modeus are mine.

Okay, disclaimer is done, so on to the important part, the story.

* * *

"The... Magick of... My people?" I say carefully, measuring the weight of the words in my mouth. "You mean the 'Vanir'?" It's still pretty obvious by my tone alone that I don't believe his claim that I'm not human, but the small smile on his lips as he nod's is enough to let me know he is not concerned with that detail at the moment.

"Yes, the Vanir." Is all he says verbally, but I can tell from his expression he seems to hold these people in high regard for some reason, and while, given that I am supposed to be one of them I find myself whether curious is to why. "W-What are they like?"

The look of admiration shifts to an amused one at my question and I can guess why. I would find myself reacting similarly if someone who didn't believe in something asked about it almost eagerly too. However, seeing that smirk makes me feel the need to justify myself. "It's just a question. Can't I want to know."

The smirk vanishes, but not in an aggressive manner. "Yes of course..." His expression now looks to have a hint of shame. "Forgive me, my reaction was... Well whether rude of me. My apologies."

It still feels strange when he does that, almost improper even. It's like if anyone should be asking for forgiveness it should be me from him. I don't dwell on that, or act on it either. I may not be the toughest, smartest or richest person, but my friends always made sure that I never thought of myself is less of a person than anyone and it would be rude of them to do it now even if they aren't here.

Despite that though I know what reaction I need to give is well. "It's okay." It's not out of a sense of deference but one of preservation and necessity. _Sometimes you just have to do things whether they seem right or not, it's all about reaching that finish line. _I didn't like those words when they were spoken to me, but I respect them now.

"I understand why..." Those words are spoken for ears I know can't hear me right now but they are answered by him. "Is you always have."

There is that reminiscing tone in his voice again, full of pride but almost a bit lonely and sad at the same time. I don't know what to do with it still, the reaction it normally would inspire in me from someone else is not one I feel I should act on.

I force myself to move on instead. "What are they like, these people you say I belong to?" Is I finish those words I bring my gaze to a more focused link to his.

He goes through a series of motions at this question. First his finger comes to rest against his lower lip in a contemplative gesture. It's followed by him opening his mouth and inhaling is if in preparation to speak, but after a moment of silence it only produces in exhale.

Then however he seems to find his word, and his eyes that had drifted down move back to mine. "The Vanir..." There is a small pause again before he continues. "...are a race blessed with beauty is well is skill."

At the word beauty I can't help but tense up a little instinctively and it is an action he takes note of, inspiring the explanation that follows. "There are many races in Asgard my dear, and some of them have features that it would do the eyes better to not see." It seems like a whether complicated way of saying it, but I understand what he means.

"So they're ugly then?" The direct nature of my words draws a hearty but brief laugh from him before he calms down, his feature settling into an amused smile. "Ah, how I love your frankness..." A lingering chuckle escapes him in the space between words. "Yes, some of them are very ugly, bordering on hideous."

I nod while taking this in. "But not the Vanir right?" It's not really a question so much is a statement but he treats it as such anyway.

"No, they are not. They are..." He hesitates is if trying to think of a different word before allowing a shrug to move his shoulders and continues. "...beautiful, as I said." The gestures lightly with one hand toward myself. "You are a prime example."

"M-Me?" Again the reference to me being beautiful has my nervous caution rising up but this time he doesn't take the time to apologize or explain away his words. "Yes, you. You are very Vanir in appearance." Is he speaks he almost seems to be outlining the area in question with his hand. "Your people, and you included, are known for the softness in their features. They are fairer in the face as well is body, lacking the harder edges and bulk of their Aesir cousins." At this point there is a slight shift in his tone, it almost seems bitter. "Though they do not need it to prove their strength."

"And that's what you are right? You're Vanir... Too?" I know by saying that in a way I am indicating that I believe it somehow, but I don't really care too much at the moment. I'm getting answers, and that is of greater importance to me.

Hearing the question his eyes widen a little for half a second before a broad grin overtakes his face. "You think I am Vanir? What brought you to that conclusion?"

At these words I can't help but feel the embarrassment creeping into my cheek and again find my knees fascinating. "Well... You said they have a... Different strength... That's the 'magic'? Like what you can do, right?" I don't want to say this next part but I know he'll get it out of me anyway so I just get it over with, but my mind is chanting _trap!_ The whole time. "...And you said they look...fair..."

Even using the word 'fair' I know he isn't an idiot and understands what I am saying. While I have no attraction to this man it doesn't change the fact that his face is an appealing one, even handsome to look upon.

"An excellent guess..." At his lack of reply to that specific part I find myself thanking god and hoping my luck will hold is he continues. "...but no, I have no Vanir blood in my veins. My... Heritage... is a bit more complicated..." His tone takes on a darker tone with those words and discourages mine, just like the next words do is well. "...and is not important."

I got the 'were not discussing this' loud and clear from his tone and wisely move away from what is clearly a sore subject for some reason. "But the magick? The stone..."

The dark look in his expression vanishes with the topic change, and my emerging sense of dread shrinks back a little is it does. "Is not mine. The magick is in the stone itself. It was created by a Vanir yes, but capable of being used by anyone. It is merely a tool for healing." That part makes sense I guess in a way. After all even here medicine works like that, I never had to make a painkiller for them to get rid of my headaches.

His next words though make less sense. "The wielding of magic is a skill beyond my reach."

My eyes are back on his with obvious confusion and disbelief written on my creases brow. "What? But you, I saw you..." I make a vague and sloppy intimation of what I think the gesture he did before was is I let my gaze return to the things I'm mimicking. "...do that thing with your hands...?!"

Again my words and actions have made him laugh, but this time only for a second. "Oh yes, you mean..." He does the motions that match my memory, and much better than my poor imitation. Circling one hand with the other I almost jerk back at the sight of another stone appearing out of the air into his hand next to the one already there. "...this."

I kind of find my tongue useless in my mouth at that sight, but he doesn't need me to say what's clearly in my eyes. "Perhaps the better choice of words would be that I cannot wield 'true' magic. I have but a few useful and entertaining tricks."

Now if I have found anything he has said or done up to this point strange, this takes the lot of it. This moment of, well its humility, plain and simple is a surprise. I mean to me pulling something out of thin air seems a bit more than an 'entertaining trick'. Again my expression says it all.

"It was only a simple trick my dear,..." Are the words that enter my ears carried on a chuckling tone. Pulling my eyes reluctantly back from his hands and the stone I make them stay fixed on his is he continues. "...hardly worth such an amazed expression."

I find myself shaking my head against those words, the action slow and precise. "Simple? Loki you pulled a rock out of thin air?! How is that a 'simple trick? It shouldn't even be possible!" I'm actually a little flustered by the whole thing, not in a frightened way, more an unsure and awed way, but it still has my breaths coming out with weight and my mind racing.

His actions preempt the question not only before I can speak it but even think it, extending out to offer me the stone so I can make sure it's actually real. It's an opportunity I don't give the chance to expire. Reaching quickly but still carefully I pluck not one but both stones from his palm.

The only words he gives me in reaction are words of caution. "They are fragile, take care that you do not crush them or the magic will be wasted on a breeze." I take that into account and notice the truth of those words for myself almost right away. I can feel a fine layer of dust on my skin just from holding the stone.

Part of me still wants to believe only with my eyes, that theses are nothing more than ordinary rocks in my hands. But it would be a stubborn denial if I did, because even right now I can feel them softening the skin of my hands.

"You used these on me before? Didn't you?" It isn't so much a question by the tone is a confirmation on what I just realized. I thought before he was lying about the time I had been here because there was no way to heal that quickly, at least not one I knew about then.

The smile of his droops a little at the memory we are both thinking of, though our prospective are probably different. "Yes..." Before he can continue and offer up a well-meaning but reminding apology of that 'incident' I let my own voice do so instead. "And you... Pulled them... From your..." I make a vague gesture with my hands to him. "...your closet?"

The smile perks back up into a full on grin, thanks to my description of what I saw. _I mean, these things have to be coming from somewhere right?_ "I suppose that is an apt comparison, yes."

"And is that all.. You have in there. Healing..." It's still feels strange on my tongue, that sequence of words. "...stones?" I say a little meekly, feeling kind of stupid and cautious of sounding insulting all at the same time. My words could be interpreted is sarcastic and rude when in fact I am really impressed by that 'trick'.

"No..." The word is followed by a chuckle before more appear. " I have other items, mostly of a small nature. In fact, one in particular you may..." That sentence doesn't finish is both our attentions are drawn by a different sound.

A rapping one, caused by someones fist but not done in an angry or aggressive manner. The knocking was just to get ours, or more likely his attention. But the words that follow have nothing but mine. "Sir, it's about the agent and the scientist."

* * *

Wow, for only a few pages that took a while. But my life's been busy, I just got a new cat and it's been occupying my time more importantly than my keyboard, and the other distraction is my mind is practically screaming at me "WRITE STORY TWO! I HAVE IDEA'S DAMMIT!" and I keep screaming back "I HAVE TO FINISH THIS ONE FIRST! SHUT UP!"

So please, leave a review and motivate me to keep writing THIS! STORY!


	25. Day 5: part 8

Well, here is 25. Just in time for Thanksgiving and one of my major reviewers birthdays (Mira SeverusSirius Black-Snape) Anyways, last time my grammar check seemed to fail at life, so I think I got everything, I even checked by running it through another one. Hopefully this time it worked.

* * *

The second those words entered my ears my mind immediately translated them to "Clint and Erik" and that's all I cared about. It had nothing to do with wanting or trying to be rude but my feet had me up and moving before I could even think about what they were doing. They would have carried me straight across the room too if not for the sudden presence of cool pressure capturing my trailing wrist.

It almost jerked me off balance, the sudden resistance on my upper body while my lower was still moving. Teetering on my heels I make a half turn before his other hand comes up to my shoulder to steady me while my own find his chest. Now while I am still very aware of the touch my greatest cause for fear isn't the feel of leather against my skin but that he might take back his promise. "Loki, please, you said...!"

"They are yours to see..." He says looking down into my pleading eyes with his own reassuring ones. "Yours... Alone."

The relief that comes with those words is almost heavy. It was only for a few seconds, but in those moments I was sure going to be told I couldn't see them. I actually have to struggle for a moment not to let the tears that are trying to form but finally succeed with a small huffed chuckle. "Thank you, thank you..."

He doesn't say anything directly because somehow I think he can tell, somehow he just knows that if he does this the control I have will crack and I'll cry. Instead he just steps a little closer to me, never once pulling me to him or tightening his hold, he just steps closer and tenderly presses a kiss against my hair. Then is quick is that affectionate gesture starts its finished, and he whispers an unnecessary request. "Let 'me' answer the door?"

I'm not sure the motion is even big enough to count is visible, but with him this close to me like he is he notices it anyway despite my already stiff posture and that seems to be enough. Stepping to the side he moves around me, but before he completes the motion he applies a little more pressure against my shoulder in the lightest example of a squeeze, only strong enough to get my attention so I don't miss his next unnecessary request. "Will you please wait here?"

I give him another very brief nod in response to that, and it is again enough to satisfy him. This time his venture away from me is finished, the shape of his body disappearing past the corner of my eyes and my ears letting me now that he continues by the clack of his heels and the sound of that door.

My impatient anxiety is I do is I said I would be is distracted suddenly by the feel of warm fur rubbing a figure eight around my ankles in a bid for attention. Looking down with my eyes I see a pair looking back up at me pleading for attention.

I don't know where the cat had been hiding for the last little while and right now I don't really care, because I find this distraction a welcome and well-timed one. Giving the little man a wavering smirk I kneel down to its level, something that excites it quite a bit, the pacing now outside of my legs picks up dramatically is it meows happily at what it knows is coming.

The second my knees touch the ground it decides I am far enough down to its level and its front paws prance up over my thighs is it tries to get even closer to my hands, making me chuckle a little. "I know, I know sweetie, Shh." I whisper soothingly to him is I begin scratching his chin, something that he seems to enjoy very much I've noticed.

But it is also a small plea of my own. While I am letting the cat take my attention I can't say I've given all of it to him. Part of me is still listening to the conversation happening at the door. The part I hear only makes that urge to cry come back even harder. _Oh Clint...please, don't..._

The conversation finishes and the sounds of the soldier leaving do so is well, but not the sound of those boots. They echo softly through the room once again, and come to a rest behind me. In the span of the next few seconds that follow it seems neither of us is quite sure what to do, but then he comes to a decision. "You heard that didn't you."

_Not a question but a statement._ I don't bother denying it either, but I do apologize for it. "I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to but...!" However is I am saying those words I am also turning around to look up at him from my place at his feet and am surprised when my nose almost bumps into his hand. A hand held out in offering.

Seeing the shock in my eyes is the fly up to his he merely smirks gently. "You do want to go see them do you not?"

I don't know where my voice went but is I nod it doesn't seem that I need it at the moment. Seeing my gesture his smirk becomes a smile, and he makes a gesture of his own. Reaching slowly and gently he moves to take my hand, giving me the chance to refuse it if I want, all while speaking just is soft. "Come then, I did promise you a chance to see them after all."

For a moment I find myself hesitating at the offer again, but is more of an automatic response than an actual one. A lot like when you stub your toe and say 'ow' whether or not it was actually painful. After that response is finished I give him the real one, I take his hand.

I don't need to see the smile that broadens over his features to know he is happy with this. Its progress with him, I understand that. Its progress to me too. I'm still not sure how long I've been here but every day I can feel myself getting closer and closer to the point I was before.

Allowing him to help me up from my kneel I end up dislodging the recently dubbed Modeus or Deus from my lap in a rather irritated fashion. He lands back on the floor in a controlled tumble and immediately begins voicing his protests, but to my slight surprise it's not me who answers them first.

As soon as he has made sure I am upright and steady on my feet his attention shifts to the animal he gave me. Offering me a brief glance that seems to say pardon me for one second before he kneels down to give the feline in question his complete attention.

It's still strange to me, seeing him treat something so gently. I mean I know he has become very kind and giving to me, but this is still the man who is holding me captive for all purposes. I still find myself looking for motives in what he does to and for me but with the cat its different somehow. It seems more... "No..!"

The word comes out in a tiny whisper but both of heard it, and the almost panicked desperate tone it was delivered in. His posture stiffens, but his head does not. Turning he looks at me with an expression of curious concern to match the beginning of his words. "Arnora? What is...?" But they don't get very far.

"No, please..." I don't know what this mood is that's grabbed hold of me, I just know that it's strong, desperate "...please, it's mine, give it back..." and afraid.

Seeing the emotions building to an almost hysterical level he makes an attempt to prevent it. Rising from his kneel he lifts the cat up with him, an action that for a moment only makes it worse. But in the next second I can feel it fading again. "Shh, it's all right..."

He says those words is he steps right back to me, the cat cradled gently in his arms is he offers it back to me. "He is yours, ..." he all but whispers the affirmation is he allowed me to pull the cat from him, something that neither male shows any resistance to. "...he will always be yours."

"He is mine." I say back just is softly is I adjust my grip, one arm supporting the weight of his little body while the other almost cages him in. The cat doesn't care though is I tuck his head under my chin, it's just happy to be held, rubbing its forehead against my jawbone and purring at the touch.

"Mine." is I say it again I can feel the anxiety leaving me, the almost panic attack disappearing back from where-ever it came and leaving me feeling like a complete idiot. "I'm sorry,..." I let the whispering tone continue is I pull my arm a little tighter around his purring black form, taking comfort in the warmth and mass of him. "... I don't know what that was. I just..."

The feel of his fingers resting against my wrist make my words trail of is my eyes move back to his. He doesn't say anything but he doesn't have to, the soft smile and light shaking of his head tell me enough. He understands even if I still really don't, and I don't need to explain it.

While he seems content to let that go for now I am not so much. I don't really want to dwell on it either but this is the second time these feelings have overtaken me. This sense of panic and need, and protectiveness too. It doesn't make any sense, but seeing Loki with the cat I just felt like if I didn't get it back in my arms I'd be loosing it forever. I'd be losing something important.

"T-Thank you..." My voice is still a whisper but a stronger one is I give him that respect he has coming. He has every right to ask me about what just happened but he is choosing not to for my benefit alone.

"I promised you..." He says at the end of a small chuckle. My small nod in reply though quickly proves not to be enough. My eyes notice the approach of his leather covered fingers a second before they rest against the underside of my chin and urge my eyes back to his. "...never again."

This time I give him a response with the words "You did, ..." and a genuinely grateful smile, even though it's a small one. "...thank you Loki."

His smile broadens once again then his expression shifts, signaling the end of this particular topic and the return to the one before. "Come though, let me take you to see your friends. Bring your little companion is well, I know you're not ready to release it yet." That part is shamefully true. I found myself reluctant at the idea of letting go of the cat, an embarrassing fact only made more so by the fact he guessed or noticed it so quickly.

"Thank you. I'm ready now." Though he didn't say anything I don't need to hear the words to know he was waiting for me. Whether or not that's true though in the long run I won't really know until the moment happens, but it is right now. _ Want to see Clint... I need to see Clint._

I thought maybe he would insist on leading me by the hand or even guiding me with his own on my back, but he does none of that. He merely smiles and walks over to the door, those hinges groaning again is he opens them and then he waits. He holds the door open and waits for me to walk through it, he makes its my choice and a free choice.

_Another thing he has given me..._ He's been giving me a lot of things lately. At first when he started giving me these gifts they were all material things, like the furniture and the fancy clothes. But lately more and more there gestures. Like letting me see my friends, or even changing his mind on how to treat them. He's giving me a lot, on the condition I give him something back... and yet, I haven't really done that yet, but he doesn't seem to mind.

He should be insistent and domineering and impatient with me even if thinking that is terrifying, but he only smiles gently at my visible hesitation and allowing me the time I need to do this myself. The me that came here is telling me this is a trap, but the me that's been here is reminding me of everything that's happened.

"Come on sweetie..." I feel a little ridiculous saying it because I know the cat doesn't need . He's happy is can be just being held, but I continue the slight pep talk for the person it's really for, me. "...We're going now."

Loki doesn't make any comment on it either is I start moving, my feet rocking forward on my toes before lifting and pivoting from the heel forward while the other one does the same. One footstep at a time I move closer and closer to the door, not sure what I'm waiting for but knowing it's something. Something that doesn't come even is I reach Loki's position and move beyond it.

All my apprehension about something horrible happening seems to vanish is I pass the door frame, like it got stuck there somehow. I'd been associating the door with unpleasant things for so long I just assumed it would always stay that way, but now that I've been given the 'choice' to walk through it on my own it seems a lot less threatening, it seems like just a door again.

The rest of the trip seems just is uneventful. After I passed the doorway there was a small pause is Loki closed it, and then he joined me at my side. Not guiding me with his hand on my back or in front of me, but at my side. _Like an equal._

Is we walked I wasn't even ordered to look down, nor punished when I at first tentatively did look around and eventually just looked at the place without hiding it. A few men glanced my way but quickly seemed to find other things interesting after the shock of seeing me wore off. The only one who looked longed was Duncan, and he offered me a pleasant smirk and a nod before turning and cuffing the guy across the ear next to him for starring.

That actually got a tiny chuckle out of me before I could stop it. It was just such a familiar action. Feeling the embarrassment color my cheeks because of that I used the cat's fur to hide my pink cheeks, but then noticing Loki's own side glance and smirk I find myself having to hide my face a little longer.

The light mood that had crept in during the walk here though fades away again is we stop in front of the door. I find myself nervous once more now that we are actually here. Clint is right on the other side of that door. Erik of course is too but he isn't really one I have any reason to worry about.

However the nervousness is quickly replaced by shock is Loki offers me yet another surprise. He opens the door easily because this one doesn't have a lock on it apparently, but then instead of ushering me in with him behind me he just holds it open. Seeing my confusion brings another chuckling smile to his features. "They are yours to see. Yours 'alone'."

* * *

Okay. That's the end of this chapter. I figured the next part should get its own chapter. They deserve it. Leave a review is always. Questions, comments and or concerns are always welcome folks.


	26. Day 5: part 9

Okay, 26 is now here for you wonderful folks. I own nothing except Nora, Jareth, Duncan, and Modeus. Marvel and its characters are not mine.

* * *

True to his word I find myself alone in the room with them, the sound of the latch clicking into place and the tumblers of the lock shifting somehow makes it real. It's like it was before, the cabinets, the desk and chair, even the curtained section of the room. The only difference is that there is no Loki, or doctor either waiting for me behind the curtains. _Well maybe not the only difference._

Though my trip was slow and quiet when I reached the barrier I shifted the cat into one arm and used my other hand to push back the cloth wall. I almost want to laugh at what I see. They set out a stool for me, right between the beds my friends are on so I can easily reach both of them.

Hearing the sound leave me causes one of the lifeforms in the room to stir, but it's probably my luck that its only the one in my arms. Misinterpreting my half chuckle is some kind of request for its attention it squirms around in my arm and begins licking my cheek, an action that does draw an honest laugh out of me.

But is much is I'm glad for the feline company it isn't really who I'm here to interact with. "Okay baby, I love you too..." I whisper to it in that baby talk voice animals everywhere love, and this one is no exception. It does however show minor signs of irritation, which is likely just confusion is I stop petting it and kneel down, setting it on the floor. "...but I can't play with you right now."

I know the cat doesn't understand me, but it seems to listen anyway. Now realizing it is in a new area its nose suddenly becomes fascinated by the smells its taking in and it begins to live up to all felines curious nature. It doesn't take long to start exploring the room.

Now that one of my boys is taken care of that leaves my attention to fall to the rest. It doesn't take me very long to decide who to give it to first. It isn't because I care any less about Erik but I don't know how long I will have and that makes my time with Clint more important.

Standing back up the first things my eyes check for are the straps holding Clint to the bed. Those are a new addition since I was last in here, and a comforting one. But is soon is that thought runs through my head I feel horrible for having it. He is my friend, I shouldn't think something like that, I should trust him.

_I do trust him, just not the body he's in._ That's the conclusion I've come to. Clint is my friend, but Clint's body is my enemy. I hate that. I hate it so much. The idea that hands that hugged me once might try to kill me, have tried to kill me.

_Not Clint, that wasn't Clint._ I remind myself, reinforcing my stubborn refusal to give up on my 'friend'. My Clint's in there, my Clint who fought 'for' me. _Who is fighting 'for' me._

That's what I heard back in the room. The soldier had news about Clint. He told Loki the doctor said he had to up the dosage of the tranquilizers for him since his metabolism was moving the drugs through his system at a faster pace than anticipated. That was the doctor's explanation, and in a way its right. But only from a medical point of view.

I have a different one, and I think its right too._ He's fighting it._ At least that's what the hopeful part of me is thinking and wanting. The hopeful part is also yelling at me. It's yelling because the other part, the logical part is wishing for something else.

"Hey Clint, how are you doing? ..." I say with a chuckle, somehow disappointed when he doesn't respond even though I knew he wouldn't. He just lies there, still unconscious with that damn mask on his face and those things in his arms.

I want so much to take them off of him, but I know better. If he is waking up it would only make it happen quicker, and he would likely react violently at the pain, so instead, despite my desire to see him like I remember him I leave them.

The action I do take is to roll the stool a little closer though, letting it swivel around on its wheels until it's in a position for me to sit down on. "That's okay, you don't gotta talk..." I say in a joking manner despite the fact I can feel the tears pooling. "...I talk enough for both of us anyway."

On the outside I'm acting like I don't care if he doesn't answer and in my mind I know he can't because he is unconscious, but inside I still find myself craving the sound of his voice. A laugh or a chuckle, or maybe even him yelling at me for being stupid. I wish he wasn't just laying here like he is, ignoring me.

Letting my weight settle into the stools weak excuse of padding I move it a little closer, the stiffest wheels crying a bit is they get used to the idea of moving again. I barely hear it, the only sounds that seem to reach my ears are sounds I hate. The sounds of medical equipment, hisses, beeps and drips fill the silence to spite me.

"Y-You look better..." The words are soft, but sincere despite their whispered quality. He looks healthier, both him and Erik in fact. Their skin has more color to it, no longer is pale and sickly looking. Is for around their eyes there is less color, the dark rings dimmer now than when I last saw them. It's proof that there is more in those IV's than water, proof that he kept his word _and a reason to keep mine._

"I'm glad." Those words are honest too, just like the next ones. "I'm sorry." Is honest is the first tear to land on the back of my hand.

"Do you remember..." I find myself pausing, and chuckling is I do just that myself. "...the first time I said thank you? It was when I found it was you who rescued me." I was a timid helpless thing back then, strapped down in a hospital bed of my own. "You called me Alice, and said not to worry about it, because you were my Red Knight..."

The next tear lands on the back of my hand again. Then the following one moves. The tear lands on the edge of my knuckle and rolls onto the mattress, the next foregoing skin for just cotton. Then another finds skin again, but this time it's his. One drop after the next travels up his hand to his wrist, then his arm and over his chest. They continue over his collarbone and neck to his cheek is I lean in closer with caution to whisper in his ear. "I finally read it, did you know that? I'm sorry Clint. The Red Knight doesn't keep Alice, he only finds her...run away, please run away. He won't hurt me, and it's okay, I know..." The tears fall, but never once do I make a sound. I just smile at those closed eyes and let my own copy them. "...'you'd do it for me' right? While it's my turn to do it now so... Just forget me and run. Run and tell him I'm sorry"

* * *

So what did you think? It's not quite a Clint POV, but it's still something. Leave a review please and thank you


	27. Day 5: part 10

Here is another chapter. I still don't own Marvel ( &^e &## ^!) but Nora, Jareth, Duncan, and Modues are still mine.

* * *

The sound someone knocking against the door was unexpected, but even more so was the following accented voice of the man I assigned as her bodyguard letting me know he brought the woman back.

He was given no orders to retrieve her for me so her return has me curious. I very much doubt that she made an attempt to escape, I do not see that action is one she would take, she is smarter than that and knows she has too much at stake. "You may enter."

Having been given permission there is only a second that passes between my words and the sound of the handle moving before the doors hinges groan to life and her light footsteps carry her into the room.

She steps around the barrier carrying the animal securely in her arms, but that isn't what catches my attention. I find it curios that she returns to me with her eyes determined to not look at anything but the fur of the feline she holds, and the fact that sitting around her shoulder holding both of them is the jacket belonging to none other than the man. _Curious, and unwelcome._

_But not unnoticed. _Is my gaze shifts to the soldier I can see the understanding cross his features is he takes in mine. He makes quick work of explaining himself to avoid my ire. "Ah foond 'er curled up in th' corner, she'd fa'en asleep an' looked reit in th' wey o catch a chill sairrr." That man's accent is almost abrasive in its annoyance but it is made up for by the sense he seems to have. "Figured ye didne want th' miss gettin' nae weel sae Ah gae 'er mah jaekit."

It doesn't take more than my clipped nod for him to understand he has my permission is well is a desire to see him leave. He acts on it quickly too, and would have left the room completely if not for her little voice stopping us both "Mister Blackwood?" She has turned to him and shifted the jacket from her shoulders to a grip in one of her hands, now suddenly free of the cat who seems to have disappeared in a moment of spurned annoyance as she holds it out to him. "Thank you, but I don't need it anymore..."

I can see his small internal battle in his eyes is he considers what to do. He knows I want him to leave, but he doesn't wish to be rude to the woman nor does he think a good idea. Eventually the second of indecision is ended when he notices my indifferent outlook on the situation. _If she does not wish to stay in it any longer then I see no need to stop this, especially when I would prefer her in something other than a worn and weathered piece of his uniform._

"Thenk ye miss..." He tells her with a polite smile is he takes, but when it becomes clear she isn't going to say anything else to him he just relieves the weight from her fingers before turning to me and giving me a questioning "Sairrr?" Encase there is anything else I might need from him. A dismissive wave is all that's needed to send him on his way once again.

The door closes but no other sound or motion occurs to fill the emptiness behind it. She doesn't move from the position the soldier left her in, even her fingers remain stiff, not making an effort to pet the animal she holds. It doesn't seem an action done out of some stubborn mindset... but a numb one.

"Arnora?" Though she does not move even so much is a twitch or speak there is still a sense that fills that the air that she has taken notice of my voice. That is why I find myself so curious and concerned that she does not respond, it is unlike her to actively ignore me.

Even is I step up to her and whisper her name once more, this time in a softer fashion on the chance she has become frightened by something I am given no visible reaction. It isn't until I am forced to catch her chin and tilt her hidden face to my view, and action that receives no resistance, that I see why.

"I'm sorry..." The first words spoken are hers, and to her great credit they are spoken without a hitch in her voice despite the stain of tears on her cheeks. "I'm so sorry."

"Whatever for?" My voice is still soft and gentle, but filled with concern and the wish to comfort whatever has her so upset. It is also with those intentions in mind that my thumb comes up to brush way the next lingering trail of drops on her cheek, and action made necessary by the felines fur no longer being in a position to hide it.

An action that to my surprise is hardly rebuked. She tenses up is she always does at the first hint of a touch, but she does nothing more than that this time. Her muscles relax afterwards, they do not shiver or set her to pull away from me, she just relaxes them back into their neutral state. _A pleasant surprise indeed._

She makes an attempt at a smile, but it wavers, and her eyes focus off to the side of my own is she attempts to collect her resolve again, however she still seems to have enough to continue speaking. "You've given me all these things, and you've been so patient with me too..."

Even is those words are being spoken I can feel a slight tremble enter her posture again. My touch has lingered on her skin long enough it seems to test the limits of her control. In a moment of understanding I remove my fingers from her chin, not wanting to push her too much just yet. My compassion only leads to another surprising moment.

"No. You don't have to do that." There isn't an ounce of waver in her voice, it is strong and steady is I ever heard it and remains so is she continues after seeing what must be my shocked expression. "You've been giving me so much, it's time I started giving back."

Now there is hesitation again, but it isn't in her voice or her posture, it is only visible in her eyes. They are shifting is if not able to hold something steady in their vision for very long but the rest of her seems much sure, and though her actions are a bit slow there is a brave confidence in them is well.

This time it is her steps that bring her closer to me. It is her hands that reach, the gentle pressure of her fingers felt beyond armor on my chest is she rests her fingertips and eventually her palms against the plate. Then following it is the slight pressure of her forearms resting against it. _She amazes me still._

For a moment there is a pause in her movements, and if I had not been watching so intently I might not have even noticed it, her progress being at the pace it was. For a moment I thought that was going to be is far is she managed to get, and if it was I would be pleased because it was an improvement.

But she continued. Despite the tremble I could feel building.

She closed her eyes and took one deep steadying breath and then the next weight I felt against me was from her tucking head beneath my chin and letting her face rest against my chest.

_Hers... _This touch is hers, in all its entirety. I did not ask for this contact, or even try to encourage it. Though I also did not make an attempt to discourage it either that does not change the importance of this action. Even the fact that in truth none of her skin has touched my own does not less the impact. _It is her touch, given. _

_And given bravely. _I did it slowly encase it would prove too much but it seems I underestimated her once again. Is my arms wrapped around her shoulders there was a moment that I felt the trembling tension in her muscles increase, but she did not pull away. Her reaction was a verbal one instead, one that brought an impressed smile to my lips.

_"__I'm _okay." Is what she says to me, spoken in a whisper against my chest is she battles what frightens her by choice.

"Thank you." Are the words I give back to her, whispered softly into her hair as I press a very light kiss over her hair, barely disturbing the strands before I rest my chin there, determined to stay like this is long is she will allow it, but only that long.

* * *

Well that my fine folks is 27. What do you think of it? Leave a review and is usual when he show up, Duncan's English is below.

* * *

I found her curled up in the corner, she'd fallen asleep and looked right about to catch a chill sir.

Figured you didn't want the miss getting ill so I gave her the jacket.

Thank you miss...

Sir?


	28. Day 5: part 10 'n a half

Well I finished this one, and since it doesn't need to go anywhere specific I'll just give it to you now.

Marvel and its amazingness are not mine. Nora, Jareth, Duncan, and Modeus are though.

* * *

_...May... _Since when did that word mean so much to me? It's just a month. _Just 'that' month. _Everything went wrong in that month. I was fine yesterday, when I went to bed everything in my head was alright. But then I woke up, and that damn fancy clock has a different number on it, _that number_, and nothings okay anymore. Everyone else got to celebrate and go on cause Captain America saved the day, but me, I got to be stuck and forgotten, I lost everything...

...And who am I kidding, I haven't lost anything, not compared to her. _Nora._

Thinking of her I find my eyes moving over to that 'thing' they call a telephone. I get that buttons have replaced the rotary dial _a long time ago_, but there are so many of them. There's two sets of 'key pads' with just numbers, not including all the rest of the buttons. It even has a button labeled memo, _what kind of 'phone' needs one of those?_ There are even antennas on this machine, which would make sense, except for there is three of them. But none of this is really the point.

_She is._ I didn't even know who she was, I saw her in the hall once or twice in passing, her arms usually full of packages or pushing a cart. But then there she was, standing quietly in the doorway watching my fingers drip blood onto the gym floor.

She never really said anything, she just walked into the supply closet, her civilian clothes and opera gloves taking me a bit by surprise and then she was back out there with me, a first aid kit in hand. She just re-wrapped my knuckles and hung up a new sand bag for me. She didn't even let me help with that, she used a trolley to bring it out and a mechanical winch from the ceiling to hang it up.

Then she just left, knowing full well that I would likely go back to beating my hands bloody again and ruin all the work she just did for me and she was okay with that, she was encouraging that. She didn't mind, because somehow she knew that's what I needed to do.

She was the first person to understand that I didn't need to be told it was going to get better, and I would be okay with enough time. She knew that words weren't enough for what I was going through, and it surprised me so much that by the time I realized she was gone I also realized I never even got her name.

Then a thought occurred to me that maybe there was no name to get, because maybe I was just seeing things. The doctors and all their tests said I was fine, but it would make sense. Why else would there be a pretty woman wandering around a top-secret government installation in worn out jeans, a tee-shirt and a pair of moccasins in her hands not on her feet.

I could have convinced myself I was imagining it, that I took a blow to the head and was imagining all of this too. The 'future', the S.H.I.E.L.D organization, the dame with the great timing and insight into what I needed. I could have imagined a lot of things, but I couldn't imagine away the hairpins holding the bandages in place.

It took me a while to find out anything about her, even after I finally got up the courage to do so. I thought it would be easy to find out who she was and where to find her, considering that there shouldn't have been that many ' barefoot ladies in civilian clothes with nice eyes'.

It became kind of clear rather quickly that I wasn't going to get anywhere by asking about her. I didn't understand why that was at the time, but I figured it out later. They didn't want to tell me much about her because they didn't want me to accidentally tell her about herself. All I knew then was that when I asked about her I kept getting the run around, I couldn't get a straight answer about her. The only thing I could tell for sure was that they all seemed sorry for her.

I found her by accident, well not accident really. I just wasn't looking at that moment. I found her in the mess hall. It was several hours after the dinner rush which was why I was there. I knew everyone meant well, but I was becoming very tired of hearing it. Seeing someone in there I almost turned to leave and come back later, that is until I recognized who it was, the sight of her toes giving her away.

She was sitting there by herself at one of the far tables, her legs curled under her in an Indian style position and a pair of tan moccasin style slippers seating where her feet should have been. I didn't get the barefoot thing either right away, but I figured it out. She couldn't handle touch yet, but her feet were far less likely to be bumped than her arms. It was a way for her to feel things without having to worry about having an incident.

She was sitting with her back to me with a knit cardigan resting over her shoulders, the stripes in varying shades of blue, purple, and brown with the ends left is fringe. Her jeans were once again worn and thin in spots and holes in others, another way for her to expose her skin without too much risk.

She didn't notice me at first or at least that's what I thought because she was hunched over with her focus on the notebook and front of her and the unmoving pencil in her hands. But then she said "Hello", just... Hello. I had expected something more along the lines of "Hello sir", "Can I help you sir?", "Captain America, sir" everyone I had dealt with since I 'woke up' all had the same sort of sad admiration for an old hero, but all she gave me was a smiling hello.

She didn't treat me like Captain America, the hero from WWII. She treated me like Steve Rogers, someone who she saw having a bad day and needed to deal with it in his own way. I appreciated that, it was strange at first, but even though it took me a while to get over being shy and awkward around her because she was a woman and a whether pretty one at that it was nice.

I could tell something was 'odd' about her, I never liked thinking that word about her, it felt rude, but it was still true. She was different, not in a bad way mind you, just different. She would do things, like pause and list out for herself the steps to something, like the proper order of an introduction leading into a conversation or become very interested in a kind of food that was very common, like hot dogs.

I didn't hear it from her first, I overheard it in the gossiping chatter from some other agents. _"Isn't it nice that the Captain and that woman, the one with the amnesia were getting along so well? It will do them both some good."_ All that time I couldn't figure out how she knew what to do or say, and it suddenly made sense. She knew because it's what she would have wanted someone to do for her.

She knew right away when I saw her next that I finally had found out. I didn't even speak, she just knew. She could see it. She apologized to me, this woman who woke up with nothing, and 'she' apologized to 'me' because she didn't tell me herself.

She thought she was being selfish because she liked having someone who didn't see her is the 'poor girl without a memory who can't be touched'. She thought 'she' was taking advantage of me, and all this time I felt guilty of the same thing. In the back of my mind I knew she must have known who I was, because she was here at S.H.I.E.L.D but never once did she make me bring up my past, she never seemed to care about who I was then, only who I was now.

She just wanted someone she could spend time with. She had friends, and she was very close to them, her spy and her archer, but as much is she cared about them she still knew there was always going to be this space between them because they knew the old her. It was the same with the other agents, they knew who she was, and there was always going to be that pity. That's why she didn't tell me, it was nice to not have it for once.

After that I made sure to spend time with her is often is I could, and I found myself with a lot of free time. S.H.I.E.L.D had me on inactive duty until I caught up with all the changes I missed in the last decades. As for her, while she was still was still relearning everything. It was like we were both students, we would help each other. I would help her with things she had trouble with, and she would do the same.

She always had time for me, no matter what she was doing she would never turn me away. When I discovered her cooking late at night in the kitchen the first time she offered me a taste. After that each time I found her cooking she always had enough food planned or prepared to account for my appetite. She didn't ask if I wanted her to cook for me, she just did it because that's the kind of woman she is.

Even when my company wasn't so pleasant she never complained about it. I know she didn't like the sight of my bruised and bloody hands, but she never said anything because she understood. She would only come to me with a first aid kit in her hands, and even though she was afraid of touching skin, she would sit down next to me and let her pretty gloves get stained by my blood is she changed the bandages on my knuckles knowing full well that soon she would be doing it again.

_This tiny little slip of a woman, and she's stronger than I am._ She didn't just lose time, or people, she lost everything. Her parents died in front of her, she was there, but the only way she 'remembers' that is from reading it in a report. She knows what her mother looked like, but only because they showed her a picture. She doesn't remember, at least I still have that.

She hadn't remembered, not for three years. She woke up afraid and alone surrounded by people she didn't know. She didn't even know herself. Then to be afraid of being touched like that, she told me that in the beginning she was even afraid of people being in the room.

But I have seen her smile. I have seen her laugh and blush and smile. She just keeps going, even through the big days. The days she knows are important, like the day her family died, the day she was born, the holidays, the birthdays, the anniversary's. The ones that she doesn't remember. She just keeps pushing through them.

Me though, here I am about ready to lose it just because of what month it is. It's pathetic. It's only going to be a few days out of the month, I should be able to handle that. _It's just..._ there won't be that pair of little hands to fix me up afterwards.

_I really am guilty of using her._ I'd become used to using her presence is a sort of blanket against the pain. Having someone around I could let myself become distracted, I could push all the bad memory's back somewhere in the dark. But she isn't here now, she hasn't even been in this state for two months.

It was easy to forget that even though she wasn't an agent she was still part of S.H.I.E.L.D, she dressed and acted too much like a civilian. Then with her finally earning civilian privileges six months ago and getting her own little apartment it made it even easier to think of her that way. But she was still a S.H.I.E.L.D employee, and they decided she had recovered enough to go back to working is one, even if they were going to start her slow.

They reassigned her to a base out in the desert. She couldn't tell me where because the location was apparently classified, but I understood that. She did tell me though that two of her friends were already stationed out there and that they were going to give her a small house this time to live in, that apparently was my fault since I gave her a kitten for Christmas.

I was happy for her, and she was excited about that chance to finally see more of the country, but there was still an undercurrent of sadness to it. We both knew she wouldn't be back in the month of May. This would be my first time dealing with this alone.

She promised she would call me, somehow, no matter what hoops she had to jump through to get that phone call authorized. I told her she didn't have too though, which only made her laugh and repeat her promise.

I know she will do it too, nothing ever stops her for long after all. _I'm being selfish though. Relying on her like this._ I liked having her around because she made things easier, but we both always knew that one of these days I would have to find a way to deal with it on my own.

_It's been a year since I found myself here. An entire year._ I missed this time during the last year because I was still unconscious in a block of ice. But now the anniversary of the day I became the hero everyone talks about is right around the corner. May 4th is coming, and for once I wish time would keep it away but I know it won't.

_I've had it an entire year. _It's just paper and word and pictures. They gave me this file after they brought me back from the street and explained everything. I haven't opened it, not even to peak in all these past days. I didn't want to, because I knew what was in it. Nothing. _Nothing in it matters_, that's what I kept telling myself.

But I think it's time now. I have to stop sitting here like some sort of rock in a river, I have to move on eventually. I may have lost people, important people who I loved and cared about. But that's doesn't mean I have to keep being alone.

_May 4th is right around the corner._

* * *

Okay, there's the Steve POV. So now is the part where you give me your opinions. Leave a review girls and boys, and maybe I'll include more.


	29. Day 6: part 1

Okay, here is 29. You know the usual drill here. I don't own Marvel, but Nora, Jareth, Duncan and Modeus are mine, now read on.

* * *

_There were arms again, warm and strong and holding me close. There was this precious thing, it was being carried in my own. There was happiness and love..._and then I woke up, and there were tears on my cheeks again.

It feels like something important, something vital to my very existence was right there, I finally had it back in my grasp only to find it was smoke and air, and the more I reached for it the quicker it faded from my mind. _It hurts and I don't even know why._

Now I feel angry. There is this pain, this misery that's taken up a place in my chest like it has every right to be there. It's just there, feeling like it's going to rip my heart to pieces and it doesn't even have the decency to let me know why.

"It can just go to hell." I whispered those words, not really expecting a response to my frustration, let alone one in the voice that delivers it.

"Weel Ah don't ken whit 'it' is, but Ah hiner its nae me." It's the Scotsmen, Duncan. Opening my eyes is I lift my head a little from my pillow I find him sitting in one of the chairs around the table is my vision finds him beyond the end of the bed and the couch. By his casual posture and demeanor its clear he has probably been here watching me sleep for a while and more importantly doesn't seem to think anything of, something I oddly don't either.

Pushing myself up from the pillow I disturb the cat Loki gave me in the process. As I moved so did the blankets it was laying on near my waist. After it indignantly removes itself from beneath the layers of blanket is decides it likes the couch better, and well I feel a little guilty for disturbing it like that I have a bigger concern.

"Did he send you to get me for something?" I ask, basing the question on most the previous experiences I have had with this man having to do with that. But is I push the covers further aside and let my feet tentatively touch the floor that is not the answer I get.

"Uhm, nae... nae thes time." He says it with his tone colored by confusion and even surprise at my question, or maybe it was the tone I delivered in myself. It's just clear that he too did not expect the response he was given.

The next one seems to catch him just as off guard, a perplexed and even slightly worried look on his face after I say it. "Oh...I see. Then what are you doing here?"

Is I let my progress off the bed stop there, my feet over the edge but the rest of me still lingering there until I am given an answer I can see him doing a quick study of me before he shakes his head, an action so small I almost miss it. Then he gives an answer. Nodding over to the table next to him with his head he finally speaks again. "Boss sent ye some breakfest."

Hearing that I let my eyes move a little farther than from where they stopped before. Sure enough, true to his word there is a another covered tray on the table waiting for me. The fact that I missed its gleaming silver surface in the first place I blame simply on the fact that the angle and the back of the couch kept it out of view, then the person in the room seemed more important, and lastly I don't really care even right now.

But seeing it is here I find myself with no reason to not acknowledge and accept it. "Oh..." now the rest of my body has a reason to move. Ignoring the chill invading the soles of my feet I push up from the mattress, letting my weight rest on them is I leave the warmth and the comfort behind for the day. I have more important things planned for the day than spending it in bed.

Loki seems to have some intentions is well. Is I rise about the mattress I notice that a new dress has been removed from the closet and laid out for me, along with a robe. The reason they are there is obvious and needs no explanation. There is however one obstacle that needs to be taken care of first.

"Thank you for bringing it, if you could tell him I will be sure to eat it I would appreciate it."

At first I receive no opposition to the suggestion, just a "Yeah, okay sure..." but then his progress out of the chair and toward the door stopped, and not only that it changed. He turned back around to face me with irritation on his tongue is much is his face. "Ye ken whit, nae. nae until ye teel me exactly whit it was Ah did tae piss ye aff."

I find myself taken back by that, but only for a second. " I'm not mad at..."But I also quickly find my explanation stopped.

"Bull jobby, we waur gettin' alang aw frenly loch an'..." His irritation with me has him taking a step toward me is he speaks, his muscles tense is his tone. This time though it is my turn to cut him off.

The step forward has me taking a small one back before I bring my eyes to meet his, the look in them mildly stinging with the idea that I think he would hurt me, and even more irritation is well. "But 'were' not 'friends' Duncan."

I can see his jaw tighten is he forces himself to remain calm, to remain unaffected by my words. _Like I am too._ "You don't need to worry though, I will tell Loki you have been very nice to me, I'm sure he will..." That seems to be too much for his temper.

His steps bring him to quickly me and then continue, my own backtracking and trying to maneuver around him but his heavy hand shooting out and connecting with the armoire beside me brings me to a quick and gasping stop.

"Please Dunc..." my automatic response is not met happily. "Haud yer weesht!" His heavily accented voice growls out words I don't know but give the impression of something like 'Shut up!' in their tone is his other hand comes to cage me in from the other side, this time much slower and less violently. It comes with an order. "Swatch at me."

It is in order that isn't obeyed at first which annoys him, but at the same time he seems to expect it. "Swatch at me Lil Hen. Noo." It's not a yelled or angry sounding set of words, but the order in its calm tense tone is unmistakable.

This time I force my eyes up to meet his, doing my damnedest to try to not think about how close he is to me, on all sides but one I can't escape to anyway. My actions are obviously ones of fear but something in my expression however is I force my eyes to meet his and stay there brings a grin to his face.

"Yer a Bonnie wee hen' sweetheart..." Even the shaky breath and shivering that is cause by him moving even further into the inches he left me don't stop him from doing it. Even when I can feel his breath against my ear he shows no signs of stopping. "...but don't ye 'ever' pit me in wi' 'at lot again. ye ain't 'at Bonnie."

With that said he pushes himself back away from me, but even though I feel relief at the space that I suddenly have again the atmosphere in the room hasn't lessened a bit.

He gives me a moment to collect my breath but doesn't allow me to use it. "..."

"Ah..." His hand comes up, and the index finger on it rises even further in that recognizable 'no' gesture, and it's matched by his words. "Nae talkin', Ah wasn't dain."

Even though he ordered my silence he waits for a second is if he thinks I might speak and doesn't want to interrupt me. When it's clear I won't he almost looks disappointed but then he continues. "Ah ainae ne'er danced jist tae impress some paycheck..." He turns, gesturing at the door that Loki is on the other side of somewhere, before he turns and points back at me. "...an' nae fur ye either."

Then after a moment spent glaring he just turns and with a huff marches back toward the door, grabbing his coat is he does and toppling the chair it had been on, the noise making me jump a little but doesn't affect him at all. It isn't till he is gone, on the tail end of the door almost slamming that I finally manage to start the process of calming down.

Letting my legs relax I soon find myself with my knees bent and my back resting against the mirrored panel of the fancy closet. All I can do at the moment is sit there numbly is I try to steady my breath and heartbeat is the adrenaline fades.

Even the appearance of Deus in my lap and his meows and attempts at attention are hardly reacted to because I am too busy with something else. I can still hear his parting words echo in my memory. _"Aw thes cuttin' sweetheart, it's only gonnae hurt ye in th' end."_

He figured out what I was really doing, but he didn't quite catch all of it. "But only me." That's the point. If it will save the things I care about then I'll do it, I'll _cut_ it out of my life. _I have to be the brave one sometime, even if it hurts._

* * *

Well this is the part where you use that box below and leave a review, and on that note. Really folks? Nobody had an opinion of the Captain America chapter? I mean I put it in there for you folks, come on. It's Steve. Also, how do you think the story is going, is Nora reacting realistically enough for your liking?

* * *

Well I don't know what 'it' is, but I hope it's not me.

Uhm, no... Not this time.

Boss sent you some breakfast.

Yeah, okay sure...

You know what, no. Not until you tell me exactly what it was I did to piss you off

Bull shit, we were getting along all friendly like and...

Shut up!

Look at me

Look at me Little Hen, now

You're a pretty little thing sweetheart... But don't you 'ever' put me in with that lot again. You ain't that pretty

Ah... No talking, I wasn't done

I ain't never danced just to impress some paycheck...and not for you either

_All this cutting sweetheart, it's only going to hurt you in the end_


	30. Day 6: part 2

Wow, chapter 30. This story is bigger than I thought it would be when I started it. Lol. Anyways I don't own Marvel. Nora, Jareth, Duncan, and Modeus are still mine though.

* * *

The return, _his return_, happened so suddenly it frightened me a little. One second I'm sitting silently, letting my fingers trail down the spine of the little slumbering creature next to me with a soft smile, taking innocent delight it the way it stretches and purrs. Then the next second my hand is still and both of our eyes are on the doorway, and the figure in it.

The third second has him moving across the room, the fast pace of his feet has each clack of his boot heels almost blending into the next one. The fourth finds him right in front of me, his outstretched hand and the sharp look in his driving me back into the cushions of the couch from my almost rise, while in the fifth I add confusion to the list of what I feel because of his words. "Show me."

I find myself with no confusion as to why his hand is held out like it is. My own gloved fingers reach back, though tentatively done I waste no time taking it so he can pull me to my feet. I cannot however say the same for his words. I have no idea what he wants me to show him, and I make it understood is I speak back. "Loki?"

My confusion was in no way hidden or missed. The harsh heat in his eyes dims is they scan over me, searching for something, this mystery thing he wants to see but doesn't find. His eyes soon return to mine, a combination of relief, frustration, and confusion written in the emerald irises. "What did he do to you?"

And now I understand. When he left the room he did so in an angry manner. Loki must have noticed or been told by someone. "Nothing" I can see the doubt in his eyes, still clinging to the idea that something is wrong. I find myself smiling a little at the concern I can see there. "He didn't do anything to me... it was my fault."

The concern lessens and in its place the confusion grows. "Your fault? ..." He repeats my words, sounding unsure as if he heard them wrong, but my nod just makes them all the more real. "How?"

"I uhm..." I pause, my memory bringing up how he had me pinned to the armoire like that but after a moment I drive it back down. "I told him to just do his job, and it offended him..."

His expression fades to a numb one, then reverses into a smirking one. "My, my..." There's a pause from him letting out a chuckle. "How bold of you." I can tell that he is impressed by it before it shifts back to concern again "But I thought you enjoyed his company, was he not kind to you?" and the hint of anger.

"No, no..." I douse that before it can really form. "He was, I just..." Letting my eyes drift away I shake my head before bringing my eyes back to his own, with a rueful smile."...I don't need someone to pretend to be my friend. Thank you though, for that."

The anger that didn't really have time to come to life vanishes from his face is another one of his smiles takes over instead. "You're welcome little one, always." It turns into a bit of an amused smirk is one of his hands comes up, carefully, and moves a strand of hair out of my eyes. He makes a point to keep the touch gentle is I do my best to minimize the stiffness creeping into my muscles. "Though now I suppose I will have to find you a new..."

My word and my action that follows even before he has finished make his statement stop. "No?" He again repeats my words is if he doesn't think his ears heard that right. "Are you sure?"

I find myself nodding again. "Yes, thank you, but I'd whether not have one."

I had been hoping it would be enough, just that I wanted it that way. I was hoping he wouldn't ask or push the issue. "What of when you wish to see your friends? Someone needs to be with you my dear, surely you know this?"

_Don't cry Nora, your strong remember?_ I focus my gaze back to his and nod, a single brief motion done with a quick smirk that I can't keep the waver from. "I-I wont... be... seeing them again."

_That look. _It's the kind of look that if you have ever seen it you know it right away, even before its finished forming. The wearer means well by it, and the words they choose to follow after it. But if you're on the receiving end you know all that is going to come from them is unnecessary pity, and that it's going to hurt more than it will comfort. So knowing that I beat him to it. " I don't want to, not anymore. Can't that be enough? That I... I don't want to see them anymore." _Don't cry Nora, don't do it._

This time his attentive gaze is a blessing. I don't want to talk about this any more because each second I do it hurts, and I don't need to fake that pain. _It's too real._

"I will not..." The look of pleading in my eyes gives him a moment of pause, but only a moment. "Shh, I will not 'take' that option from you little one." He finishes his sentence that my expression broke off. Then the fingers the never really left my hair drift to the back of my head to hold it gently. "But I will not force it on you either."

"Thank you." Even I hate how meek and pathetic my voice sounds, but saying _don't cry_ isn't working anymore. He can tell, but he doesn't need to say anything. He just gently applies pressure against the back of my head, guiding my face to rest against his shoulder but still lightly enough that I could refuse the offer. I don't, because even though it's a small one it's a chance to cling to some dignity, a chance to cry without him seeing them on my face.

I did cry, the tears did fall but never once through the whole thing did I make a sound. I just kept repeating the words I used earlier at his first touch to my hand, words that I will never say out-loud. _Words that will help me get through this._

I'm the one who pulls back first, and he doesn't prevent me. Once he feels me trying to move away because the contact was becoming too much he does so on his part is well. The hand that had been on the back of my head, releasing it just like the one that had wrapped around my shoulder during the time I was like that.

He doesn't comment on my tears either, at least not verbally. His hand does come up and against my closed eyelids I can feel the brush of his thumb is the digit removes the last of the trace, and then the pressure of his cool palm abandons my cheek, making my shivers much easier to repress.

Then when he does speak I can hear the smile in his voice before my eyes reopen to see it in his. "But I see you've received my them... you even devoured the one." He says with a bit of a chuckle is his eyes flicker to the table. He is moving on to less unpleasant topics, something I am very grateful to him for doing.

I nod back, a quick grin over taking my features before it fades. "Yes, thank you. The strudel was delicious..." I trail off and let my eyes rest of the content form of Deus on the couch, his face still a little damp from the milk. "...and the cream was appreciated is well."

That earns a chuckle from him. "I'm glad to hear it." Then his grin drifts back into a calm smile, and his eyes drift from mine, moving lower to look at the dress I am wearing."And this too is I hope? It was not to forward a suggestion?" _The dress he picked out._

The dress is a sleeveless on with a V neckline. The fabric of the top portion has been folded into slightly overlapping layers, each descending into a center point from the opposite side. Then the two bands of fabric wrap horizontally around, forming a high waist. There is also a folded sash that hands down into a point against my left hip on top of the rest of the floor length skirt.

The lack of warmth it offers me is made up for by the robe. Despite its thin appearance it actually has done whether well holding in my heat. Its silk in the shades of green and gold. The top part, the sleeves and tassels is well is most of the chest are the emerald shade I am used to, with the gold mixed in. It has patterned stripes going down each arm and delicate golden floral designs spreading over the rest. The same it repeated below with the gold dominating the fabric and the green threads decorating it.

Its looks very nice all together, the kind of outfit I would expect Natasha to pick out for me. _Don't think about them anymore...they aren't here. You don't want them here._ I have to remember not to think about them anymore. I need to do this myself, this time I'm the only one to take care of myself. _I need to be the only one..._if they're not here it means they are safe.

"Yes..." I pause noticing his expression shift a little to almost confused disappointment then realize why, "I mean, no. It wasn't." and correct his misunderstanding. "The dress is beautiful. Thank you Loki."

"You're welcome" His smile spreads with the sincerity behind those words, then his hand motions back to the couch. "But come, sit with me now."

It is not phrased is a request but it lacks the weight of an order at the same time. I have the option of telling him no, he is giving me that courtesy. But I don't use it, I don't really have a reason , after all, even if I know what is coming. I just run the words I've recited in my head once again, they exist to keep my courage alive and so far they've worked. _These hands are warm, they are broad and strong, they are gentle. These hands are... _"Alright"

* * *

Sorry this one took longer, I was making a cohesive timeline for Nora's past instead of just keeping it in my head, that way I can't mix things up. But it took some research too, hence the wait.

Also I know this chapter could have been longer, but I am going to do some different POV's and instead of having a bunch in one chapter they will be getting each their own.

So leave a review please and thank you. And if you have any suggestions those are welcome to.


	31. Day 6: part 3

Okay, here is 31, and it's not a Nora or Loki chapter, omg. Read it and find out. Is usual I don't own Marvel, but Nora, Jareth, Duncan and Modeus are mine.

* * *

"..." Listening to the agent on the other end of the line I can't help but just want to bash my head against the wall a little. "Agent Samson." _It's amazing how a person's name said in the right tone can shut them right up. Like it just did. _"At the last count we have 63 dead agents, and so far 29 are not U.S. citizens. So man up and tell the French Ambassador that when we are sure none of the bodies have been contaminated we happily hand them over, but for now maybe his time would be better spent thinking of what he wants to tell their families whether than wasting ours." I don't even bother asking him if he understands how serious I am about not hearing anymore of this, I let the click of my phone hanging up do it for me.

This whole thing has been nothing of a mess. The French are not the only people giving us a hard time. There were people from all over the world in that base when it fell, scientists and technicians from a multitude of fields and many from government agency's of their own. I understand that they all want their people back and to know what has happened, but so do we and we have a lot of steps that need to go through to get to that point.

First obviously is excavating the site and removing the bodies, or in the rare cases rescuing the survivors. But then after that, given the nature of the facility, each body whether it is dead or alive has to undergo extensive testing.

While it was only a small amount, we are still not taking any chances. The Tesseract radiated gamma radiation, so with it having activated is it did and then collapsing everyone who was present is undergoing a period of quarantine and decontamination measures.

Then there is the missing too. We haven't finished excavating the site yet but it the process continues the possibility is growing. There were only so many people at the base and their presence there had been well documented, so is more and more names have been checked off it is becoming even more likely that some will not be. We already know that Barton is one and the doctor is well, but the terrorist Loki could have very well taken more with him on his way out.

We need to confirm who if any he has, because if they are under his control they are an enormous security risk and need to be removed from the system immediately. Is a security measure we have initiated an extra security measure. While the ones we know are clear from not being present have gone through the process of putting their voice pattern and retinal scans into the system the rest need to be cleared before allowed back into the system. We can not risk one of the men under his control hacking into our systems.

That too presents a problem of its own. Since this was such a high priority project a large percentage of active S.H.I.E.L.D agents were stationed here. So we have had to bring in many off duty agents. Which of course, for security reasons have to undergo intense psychological testing to make sure they are clean. Then they have to be brought up to speed on the situation is well before they can officially be put to work.

Work to be done is one thing we are not short on either. We have just gotten things rolling steadily at last, and it has been an uphill battle most of the way, with the ball only now clearing the top of the hill and rolling on its own.

One of the first things we had to do was media suppression. That implosion took out not only the base but a large section of the surrounding area, and the shock wave was felt in the nearby towns, the closest quite strongly. There were reports of damage to some of the buildings. Spinning it is an earthquake was the immediate and logical choice, but there was still the need to smoother all reports and videos related to the mushroom cloud in the desert. The division for that seems to have taken care of it artfully is I have not heard much involving that since the first day, what they have spun the incident into is far is the public is concerned I am not sure, I have been too busy myself to worry about that.

Then there was the task of getting the systems back on-line. Being such a top-secret project most of the research was located on private servers, not connected to a network outside of the base. That has slowed us down a little is a result. Now of course the data was backed up regularly to the S.H.I.E.L.D mainframe, but the most recent data entry had yet to be transferred over, which means when the base was destroyed so was the data.

The loss of that data also got into way of another important part of our task. Without that data we didn't have a reading of the gamma signature the cube was giving off, and that made any attempts at detecting it nearly impossible on our part.

That also means the reading of the Tesseract is it activated are lost to us, but more importantly the security feed was destroyed. With that gone we didn't have a picture of the man who identified himself is Loki. We eventually managed to get an image from a satellite feed of the area and grafted it onto a facial model, but that still took precious time.

We needed that image sent out to the authorities, public and military is soon is possible. The police in the area is well is every military branch were sent pictures of not only Loki, but Clint, Erik and Nora is well. We covered every base, even the FBI's most wanted list. They were all listed is dangerous terrorists, and a substantial reward is being offered for information, but information only. There is a chance someone will still try something stupid like capturing them, but with the reward for information exclusively there is less a chance that someone will make the mistake of attempting to capture them. It is my personal hope we can get them back without killing them, but I know I have to be practical about this.

It has taken six days of chaos but finally we have reached that point. But even with all this progress going on we are still nowhere near finished. During that time we also secured people. One of which was the scientist Jane Foster. The second Asgard was mention her safety became a huge priority. Not that it wasn't already given that Selvig, a close companion to her was brainwashed and taken.

But there was also the need to secure less in danger people. Natasha had been deep undercover in eastern Europe and Asia for the last year, the kind of deep cover that involves going completely under our radar. The only thing we had in her was a bio-chip that was designed to signal us if her body temperature ever dropped below a certain level, informing of us of her death. That being said the only way for us to find her was to run her face through a years worth of satellite photography to get a current location. They are doing that now in fact, but it will take a while even with our computers, however once they get it, reaching her should be relatively easy.

The same procedure is being used on someone else, someone not on our payroll. Doctor Banner. We know he is somewhere in or around India, but that is a large country and we don't have time running around it, so we are using the satellites to narrow the area down.

While some of our satellites are looking down we have others looking up. When Asgard was mentioned we also began looking for any evidence of another Einstein-Rosen Bridge on the chance that Thor would also be making an appearance. Whether for good or not we don't know, but we don't want to be surprised by another one of them, or their weapons. _I really don't like their weapons. Well, unless we can use them that is. _I'm looking forward to when we begin testing on what they have developed from the Destroyer. I may not like it since it almost killed me, but I have great respect for its destructive force.

And yet is much is all these things are, they are only the ones I had been assigned to oversee. Hill had her own list of objectives to work through that I never even had any involvement in, and the same is true for the Director. Though the progress may not have been is quick is we wish it had, it isn't because we haven't tried. Every single agent has been working themselves into the ground trying to get to that point, but there is a limit to human abilities. Even though we have been pushing that limit eventually no matter what we wish we find it caps off.

I myself have found that point. I am just waking from 6 hours of sleep and already I'm getting calls. I would have preferred to just keep working, but after almost two full days without sleep and running on caffeine pills and energy drinks it was mandatory that I get some rest. Sitwell stepped in and took over for me like he had two days prior. My desire to see this thing through was less important than maintaining productivity, and if I can't think straight from exhaustion I wouldn't be doing anyone good.

Rubbing the last of my sleep from my face I sit up and let my legs drop over the side to the floor, and before I even finish turning off my alarm I'm greeted by another sound.

"Mraaaaoooowwww" The sound isn't intimidating even though I think the owner of it intends it to be, but there is only so much the higher tone of a kitten's voice can accomplish.

Stretching a little I ignore the sound id it continues emanating from across the room before letting out a sigh. _The Captains kitten. _The agents that retrieved him brought him to the nearest military base and had the vet's there get right to work on it. The visible injury's to it were the broken front leg on its right side and a bloody eye from damaged blood vessels. The less visible ones were the concussion, bruised ribs, and scratches under its fur.

The leg was the only thing that required surgery. Time on its own would be enough medicine to heal the broken blood vessels in its eye and the bruising to its side. They prescribed something for pain then gave the kitten a clean bill of health and released it back to the agents. That was five days ago.

For most of the first day he was here he slept, the anesthesia still heavy in his system. I didn't mind since I was incredibly busy at the time, and it was convenient. I also had my life made easier by the fact that agent Ferguson in a moment of foresight brought it here with supplies.

The cage he brought was more than large enough and given the make of it I think it was meant for a guinea pig or a rabbit. The bottom if it is grating, but he includes a small stiff backed shag rug so the kitten's paws wouldn't fall through. He also bought two automatic feeders, one for water and one for food since he knew everyone would be very busy and I wouldn't have time to check on it often. With that logic in mind he also bought a self-cleaning litter box. The last items on the relatively small list are a cat bed some catnip mice, canned food, and of course a very large bag of kitten food and cat litter. It's all whether nice stuff, though the user of them doesn't seem to think so.

Ever sense Jareth has woken up he has been a very unhappy individual. Each time I am in his presence I am sure to hear a steady growl escaping his little body. I don't really blame him though, he doesn't know me, and meeting me after what was probably a very painful and traumatic incident doesn't exactly give him a reason to trust me.

I don't even hold it against him when he try's to bite me every time I have to get in the cage. He would probably attempt scratching is well if it didn't guarantee him falling over. The front paw that was broken is held straight out slightly to the side, so if he swatted at me he would only lose his balance and fall. Something that he did a few times before he figured it out.

Since then his anger is mostly directed in small high-pitched hisses, growls, and that snapping sound they make.

I remember when he came into the picture. Nora came in and told me she got a kitten, while not so much she got is she was given. She was worried she would get in trouble, but she just couldn't turn it down. After she explained it I understood why, and even agreed. While technically she was not supposed to have a pet, her rank didn't qualify for such a thing, even though she had off base housing by then. But it was a present, a Christmas present from Captain America. I couldn't take that away from her, I didn't even want to. I told her it was all right, that it was technically against regulations it wasn't really that big a deal. After she left I made it 'not a big deal'. It was worth the punitive measures that it got me, I didn't mind doing it because I knew it made her happy but more importantly that made the Captain happy.

_Green lighting her friendship with him was probably the best decision I ever made...and the worst. _The day after he showed interest and asked around about her I had called her into my office. I made it very clear the Captain America was very important, but was also very troubled at that time and needed to be handled very carefully and any mistakes would be responded to harshly. She looked in my eyes and said _"But his name isn't Captain America, it's Steve Rogers"_. She didn't say it with anger or sarcasm, she just said it calmly with a smile, like it was is simple is that.

I wanted to say something to that, to argue the point, but then I realized something. _She was right. _Captain America was created to be a symbol of hope during a war, a campaign tool. If he hadn't met the senator and gained his attention he would have just been Steve Rogers, a very efficient soldier. But there was no war now, no need for a symbol, but the man was still here, and was just the man. _We were all seeing a hero, but all she saw was a man._

I didn't think twice about allowing her to see him after that. She saw him is just a person, and nothing else. I thought that might be just what he needed, and it did do him some good. He seemed less miserable around her, even happy. That's why I wish I never did it. Because if we have to kill her, and we might, it will destroy him. He'll end up worse than when he woke up, and it would be my fault. _And I wouldn't even be able to tell him._

_Don't think about it, you can't do anything anyway. _Fury made it very clear I'm not to talk about this, especially to him. Not that I have to worry, I haven't even met the man yet. After he woke up the Director decided it would be best to let him settle into this century before exposing him to too many fans. Unfortunately, I qualified is one of those fans, but I also understood the decision. He was going to have enough on his plate without adding me to the list.

There is still the chance it won't happen that way. They haven't been found yet, which means they are alive, she is alive. And if there is one thing I have learned about that woman, it's that she is strong. It's not physical with her. According to the doctors we never did get her body up to what they theorized her ideal BMI, not that we were trying. Our food just didn't seem to be enough for her to gain weight from, it just sustained it. No, her strength was in her spirit, that one never really gave up, on anything. They didn't always happen is quickly is she wanted, but accomplished her goals.

_She'll do it this time too. She'll come back._ Everything she knows is here, and everyone she cares about. _I just need to trust in that._

"After all, you're still here." I say, looking at the kitten across from me, and getting a louder growl in reply.

Shaking my head I little I try not to grin. For all its anger and big talk, it really only sounds cute because of its little kitten voice. Pushing up on the edge of the bed at last I take a quick glance at the clock. I still have a few minutes before I am expected back out there. That one call came to me probably because Sitwell was on the line with someone else, so instead of holding it transferred over. I'm not worried about it though, its part of the job and right now the jobs never been more important.

Getting up I had over to the mirror to adjust my tie only to feel something hit the edge of my shirt before a tiny hiss reach my ears. Looking down I find myself very unimpressed, something that's relatively easy considering the amount of pink that makes up the angry creature. The cast covers not only one of his arms but they also wrapped it around his shoulders too, and despite it being a boy they used pink cloth. "I know..." I shrug and look at the mirror again. "...you hate me. It's okay though. I still like you."

"Good to know since I'm doing your job."

I don't need to really look to know who it is, even though I can see him in the mirror. "Shut the door please. He doesn't like it open." Again the sound of voices makes him raise his.

Is Jasper enters the room I can see that tiny smirk of his thanks to the mirror. He ignores the steady irate hum coming from the cage, though he does comment on its creator. "I see he's settling in nicely."

"With flying colors." Is my neutral almost monotone reply is my focus stays on trimming up the knot into a nice shape before I turn from the mirror to grab my suit jacket off its hanger.

"I can see this..." That is obviously a reference to the kitten's patriotic collar. I had to have that cleaned a little, but thankfully the tiny bit of blood that was on it doesn't really show with the red strips that are already there. "Thinking of making him a mascot?" That question though directed at me is met with a snapping reply from the 'mascot' in question.

My shrug to that question is hidden by the fact that I am also shrugging my way into my jacket. "Maybe at the next board meeting."

That is rewarded with a snort of amusement is he turns his attention back to me from the still growling kitten. "You know, we're an eagle right?" This time my shrug is visible. "Well see."

I can imagine him shaking his head in amusement at that, but I don't see it because I had turned away yet again. This time my attention is directed at the small locker in the room. I predictably pull out my phone, my ID, and my Bluetooth is well is my weapons. Less predictably, at least for him, is it can of cat food I remove too.

This one is ocean whitefish, and like all the others out of the pack I find myself mildly amused that the picture on the front looks a lot like the kitten himself. I wonder if the agent saw it and picked this kind just for that reason, not that it really matter though. The important thing is that this is the easiest way to get the kitten to take its medicine, hiding it in something delicious.

With everything else in its place and that in my hand I turn to the cage, only to be rewarded with a louder grumble is it notices my eyes land on it is well. With Sitwell in the room it is more upset than usual. Right now it has backed itself is far into its cat bed is it can, its little body hunkered down and pulled in is tightly is it can. It also has its ears back, and its tail is swishing dramatically is it continues its growl is I step over to open the cage. It doesn't even seem to pause for air anymore, the low growl became an almost loud keening.

"What's a matter little guy, you're not fond of uncle Coulson?" At these words I actually stop, in the middle of opening the cage. I'm honestly surprised by that, and annoyed. Glancing over blankly I bring my eyes to land on Jasper's. "What? Too much?"

Letting out a sigh I just turn back to the task in front of me. Sliding the handle to the side and unlock the cage. "Don't mock the kitten." I don't see his response to my dry tone since my attention is directed, but I hear it. "Sorry."

From its laid down position it can swat with its good paw without falling over, something it discovered through trial and error. However given that it is still pressing itself into the back of its kitten bed it doesn't accomplish anything unless it was trying to fluff the padding up. It's even less effective given that I'm not reaching for the kitten, but its food dish.

Taking the little spoon I pop the rubber lid of the can of food. The pain medication has already been mixed into the food, hidden in the sauce and chunks of fish. For a second and only a second there is a pause in its complaint, its ears perking a little is it recognizes the sound of the lid coming off and smells its treat. But the moment is reversed when it see's my eyes flick back to it.

Letting the kitten continue to hate my existence I go about my task. I know it's just scared and confused. It had a traumatic encounter and woke up in a strange place with strange people. I'm sure the sounds and shifting of being on an aircraft carrier aren't helping either.

But even upset is it is it still does find some enjoyment here. Once I have filled the bowl with the wet food and re-locked the cage I can see its nose pulling it from the bed. Its progress is slow, filled with it stopping to growl at me with every limped step, but soon it's face finds its self in the food dish, and "Mraow-rar-rar-rar-rar-rar..." is echoing out of it.

With the kitten officially taken care of now I set the food back in the locker before I turn back to the fellow agent in the room, and get back to business. I don't even have to say I'm ready, he understands well enough, and hits the button to open the door, both of us exiting through it before it closes with a pressurized hiss. The sound proof barrier trapping in all evidence of the feline being here behind it.

"Nice bling by the way." He tells me is we begin our trek down the hall, clearly referring to the charm I attached to the kitten's collar. "Its double-sided." I add back with a note of pride, accepting the Ipad and begin familiarizing me with the accomplishments of the last six hours.

"Oh yeah?" Out of the corner of my eye I can see him glance back at the room where the kitten is, then back at me. "So when-ed you have it made anyway?"

"February." And after those words register with him his footsteps stop. Curious mine do to, and I turn to see what is the cause. I'm greeted by his tiny smirk again, and this time its growing, despite his best efforts. "February?!"

His voice is full of snarky amusement and I know exactly why. I thought about it too, the inappropriateness of giving one of my subordinates a gift, let alone in that month. Even if it was truthfully for her pet it still would have given the wrong impression, especially considering that pet was a gift from another man."It was for Christmas, they had a sale going."

"Uhuuuh..." He says with a gleam in his eyes and a note in his voice that he doesn't buy it for a second. But then he falls back into step with me. For a moment I think the moment is over, but then he speaks anything. "So this a 'don't tell the Captain' thing? Right?"

"Shut up."

* * *

So there it is and credit goes to Mira SeverusSirius Black-Snape for helping me come up with a list of things that S.H.I.E.L.D had been doing. Cause it's been a week, they needed to be doing something! Oh, also if you want to see the bling Coulson got for the kitty, new pictures will be up at the Photobucket page. The link is on my profile.

Well, leave a review.


	32. Day 6: part 4

That took a lot longer than I wanted it too, I apologize. After that last chapter I couldn't figure out who I wanted to do next, so here it is. A lot of day six is going to be happening all at the same time is far is the different POV's go.

Well read on kiddies.

* * *

_"W__ar_ isn't won by sentiment director.", "No. It's won by soldiers." Those were the last words spoken between myself and the Council in a latest 'debate' session. But instead of going away after I cleared them off the screen those words have become my biggest headache. They've put a question in my head, one well might become a problem. _What happens when the soldier's sentiment gets in the way?_

When the Council brought up our 'pet alien' is they like to call her I informed them that the order had already been given to use lethal force if she showed any signs of resistance. They were quick to 'compliment' me for being practical in that regard, and reminded me that this wouldn't have been an issue if I had just followed their orders to have the specimen studied like they originally suggested.

I didn't follow that order since it was obvious to any idiot that the girl was harmless, she was only dangerous because she was afraid. _Not that I can really blame her after what I read in those files. _What these scientists did to her was more than inhuman, it was sadistic. Even having lost her memory she remembered it well enough to be afraid of human touch, she just never knew why.

I was even more sure in my decision after the new Mexico incident. Her physiology was almost identical to what information the doctors had from Thor's short stay in that hospital. Given what he was capable I was very glad with my choice not to give her any reason to dislike us.

That's why I made that call in the first place. She hadn't shown any particular skills or strengths then, or even up to now. But I knew some day there was the chance something might appear, or return. We treated her like one of us, we treated her with respect. We did this so if one day she did remember, she'd remember us too, and she would be on our side.

It was a great plan. But I never counted on a brainwashed Agent. I never should have assigned Barton to her but then I had no other choice. To make the Council happy I put him on her. His skills at neutralizing threats was enough to shut the Council up. If she got out of hand he was to take her down.

_But then he became her friend._ I was not happy about that. When he did something similar with Agent Romanoff I was not happy either, but I saw the usefulness of that decision. Having someone is capable is the Black Widow on our team was an asset. But with this one, she had no fighting skills, not skills is a spy, she could barely spend time in other people's presence without being nervous wreck.

I put him through a ringer of psychological tests is soon is it became noticeable. We had no idea what she was or was capable of, we just knew she wasn't human. So we were looking for anything unusual incase she was somehow affecting him. We found nothing. No unusual brain wave activity, not signs of anything in his blood, nothing. He just was fond of her.

It wasn't just him either. After a little while Romanoff noticed the friendship that was growing between the two, and she decided to check out the girl herself too. It didn't take her long to like the woman either. Her tests all came up clean. There was just something endearing about the woman that made people like her. She even won over Captain America.

All this worried the Council, but I saw it as a good thing. Her friends, all of them, were Agents and heroes. Her connections to this world were all good people, but more importantly they were people on our side. Every friend she made among us just made it more and more likely that when she regained her memories or any powers she might have that she would use them for us.

It was a gamble, I knew it. But it was worth it because the benefits outweighed the risks. Or at least they did.

When we found out she had the same physiology is an Asgardian I decided to make another gamble. When she came into our possession, she came with a stack of paperwork. The original owners of her had quite a few files on her. They called her a Göttin, the German word for Goddess. We didn't really believe that.

We thought she was some kind of mutant. Sixty years ago any and all knowledge of such people was almost none existent, and well, that group that had her was known for its religious fanaticism. We did tests to determine what we could, but to our frustration and confusion she never matched up with the known mutant genetic sequences.

The idea that she was an ancient goddess or an alien of some kind seems ridiculous, but then one sent a suit of armor and wiped out a town.

The Council wanted us to neutralize her again after that, thinking she was a spy. I argued against it. We just made an alliance with a new race, killing one of their people immediately after would not be looked on kindly. Even they had to see the logic in that.

It took a little more to get them to sign off on my idea. If Asgard was real, and its people were too than objects reported to be from there were likely real too. I wanted her at the base with the Tesseract, an artifact that apparently came from Asgard. There was the possibility that since they came from the same place it might respond positively to her presence, and perhaps if that happened we could find a way to prevent it. We wouldn't want to make a weapon someone else could control after all.

Nothing ever happened though, at least because of her. The report says she wasn't even present at the base when the cube started acting up. She had left at least an hour before any activity, and given the couple of months she was there with it without so much is a blip there was no reason to think it had anything to do with her.

_But he definitely has something to do with her. _There is no doubt Barton and the doctor told Loki about her, since both of them were well aware of what she was, but they also would have told him about her condition. That's what's worrisome. Even is an Asgardian, without her memory and no visible powers there should have been no reason for him to take someone like that. The fact that he did means he knows something about her we don't, and given that he is clearly not here for anything peaceful it's a reasonable guess that whatever he wanted her for doesn't involve it either.

Her being taken makes the situation difficult, and yet incredibly simple at the same time. The enemy took her, no doubt for a purpose so that makes her an enemy too. It she can't be recaptured then she will be killed, it's that simple. The difficult part comes later, but if everything works out, it will be much later.

I know Coulson hates the idea of keeping this from the Captain, and I don't like that I had to put him in this position, but it needed to be done. The Captain needs to focus, now more than ever. I know it's already going to be hard for him, since this is about the time of year he lost his friends and made his sacrifice. Having him distracted by a woman is the last thing the world needs.

The same can be said for Agent Romanoff. She too has become whether close to her. I would like to keep it from her too, unfortunately I don't think that will be possible. There will be no way to keep the knowledge of Barton from her, and once she gets that she is going to want to know about her is well. She also knows about the unique nature of Nora Elaine.

With her though at least I can count on her to keep a level head. She may be very fond of the girl, but she has always been aware of the potential threat the girl could become. This was always a possibility, and she knew this.

The Captain, however he knows none of this. As far is he is concerned she is just a woman with a very impressive sob story that he likes, and perhaps given some of their interactions he might have deeper feelings for her than just 'like'.

But all this, well still important is also secondary. These are only potential problem. There are real problems that need to be dealt with, and thankfully now that we've finished jumping through all the hoops put in place by the Council we are making progress.

We've been looking for any sign of the Tesseract or the ones who took it through every camera we can access, but that hasn't proven effective so far, not that we thought it would. Barton isn't an idiot, he knows that well be one of the first things we would do so I'm sure he took steps to avoid our eyes.

We did get a bit of luck though. Our scans and readings of the Tesseracts gamma signature my have been lost, but we found another one. A satellite manages to capture a reading of the anomaly. Well it may not be the best quality given the distance it is still a means of identifying the location of the cube if there are any traces of the energy that show up.

So far that hasn't happened either, again something we probably owe to Agent Barton. He has very likely taken the Cube somewhere secure, somewhere that we won't be able to 'see'. We are looking for places like that, but unfortunately tracking down buildings like that is a one at a time kind of effort and requires a personal visit to the location by the local military. Even with a lot of people working on it we can only move so fast.

But now we finally have the Helicarrier. We have been operating out of it this whole time, but only now have we been authorized use of the carriers full military and intelligence capacity. I can finally get this lady in the air. _Maybe after this mess the Council will finally listen to me about how unnecessary all these protocols are._ If they weren't there I would have had all this done a few days ago.

Now that I've taken care of the Council and gotten their permission however I can finally get back to work. The barrier separating me from the bridge hasn't even finished dropping yet and I am already running through the next list of things that need to be done.

"Hill..." My lieutenant was standing there, already waiting for me like the hard-working woman I know her to be. "...what have you got for me?"

"Sir." She falls right into step with me is I step up to the monitor and begin pulling up the mission logs. "North Dakota. Minnesota. Iowa. Missouri. Oklahoma. New Mexico. Arizona. Nevada. Oregon and Washington state have all been cleared." That's good news, with each state we clear it means there are less and less places for them to hide, but it's infuriating is well. With those states added to the list we have almost scoured half of the country.

We've been doing a comprehensive search, radiating out from the ruins of the P.E.G.U.S.A.S. Base, and we have the South American and Canadian governments cooperating with us in the search. That at least is something the Council has managed to do right, getting their countries to work with us.

"The medical department has cleared now eighty-three percent of all S.H.I.E.L.D Agents for active duty." My gaze doesn't lift from the screen is I study the map of recent crimes, having the computer focus on only the violent ones in the hopes of finding a pattern. My silent nod is enough of an answer to let her know I am still listening. "And so far only 1.7 percent have shown any signs of radiation."

Most of what she has told me is much what I expected to hear, but this next part is not. "Also MI-6 has demanded an audience."

_The British secret intelligence is 'demanding' our attention? Of course they are, who isn't? _ They have been working with us on this, but so far there wasn't any indication they have left the country. "I'm sure you can handle that hill, what else do you have."

"No sir, ..."

This time hearing those words I finally look away from the screen, arching a brow at her in confused annoyance. "Excuse me?"

She doesn't seem at all phased by my tone, not that I expected her to. She is too much of a soldier to be affected by something like that. "They have insisted that they will only talk to you."

"Oh, well I'd love to sit down and have a nice with the queens men but were a little bus..."

That's about is far is I get before she interrupts me with something that makes that chat suddenly very important. "They sent us this. A0731129."

"Hill, take the bridge. I want MI-6 my screen an hour ago."

* * *

There is 32. I hope it wasn't too horrible. I don't know how well I channel bad-ass black men. Lol. Well leave a review like usual.

So how did you folks like getting a little more info on what SHIELD has been doing, and about Nora's past? Who thinks they know who had her before SHIELD?


	33. Day 6: part 5

Well, I feel like a liar. Lol. Post something about how chapters are going to take a while, then pounds one out the same night. Oh well, it's still mostly true.

Like usual, I don't own Marvel, or its brain babies. Nora, Jareth, Duncan, and Modeus are still mine though.

* * *

"Stop, stop I..." I don't need to finish that sentence, as true to his word he pulls away. Giving me a chance to recollect myself before we begin again.

After he asked me to sit with him he made a request, or a proposal really. He said he was proud of the progress I had made on my phobia, but despite that, he wanted to see more.

At first I was frightened by those words, my mind immediately bringing up the memory of being tied to that chair screaming. He saw that reaction coming, and not a second later did his best to reassure me that was not his intention. He did however, wish to take a more active approach.

His suggestion was simple really. We would start slow, beginning with just touching our fingertips together, then progressing holding hands and further up the arm. He promised that if it became too much all I needed to do was say so and he would stop, letting me have a break before we started again.

"Take your time, ..." The hand that had made slow progress up my arm retreats now, moving from my shoulder back to his lap. When we started this I had to remove my gloves and my robe, which really wasn't that unexpected. He didn't hurry me through that either, content to let me do this at my own pace. "...it is all right."

My response is a quick wavering smile, but I don't bother correcting it. My focus is on steadying my heart beats more than a steadying my expression.

I can handle it great up until his hand reaches my elbow, that's when it starts to become difficult. Then by the time he reaches my shoulder I have to stop. It's just too much, of everything. I have the words to help me, but they can only do so much. His hands just are too cold, and too close to my throat at that point, and I can't do it. I've had his hands there before, but with the build up its more than I can handle.

It is to my slight surprise and the cats annoyance when he rises. Gently but firmly urging Modeus off his lap he gets to his feet. My reaction is met with one of his mildly amused smirk, but no words this time.

I don't mind that though since my attention is drawn away by the feel of my other companions paws against my legs. Being so rudely kicked off Loki's lap he has decided to return to mine. Though it quickly becomes clear that my lap is only half of what it wants. Its little paws walk their way up my chest, not at all concerned with what it claws might do with the fabric.

I however am. Normally I wouldn't mind at all, but since Loki picked this one for me to wear and is still in the room I don't want to let the kitty's ignorance get him in trouble. Reaching I take hold of his paws and carefully disengage them from the material, then seeing as he was after my hands I move them away, down by my knees.

That small amount of time is all it takes Loki to do what he rose to do. His return from the short distance brings my attention back up, and my eyes to the sight of that large fur-lined robe. Seeing them travel further up to his I am given an even larger smirk. "You've been bearing it well, but I can see that I've made you cold."

He is right, his touch has made me cold, but I was doing my best not to bring it up or let it show. Last time I brought up the subject of what he was it became clear pretty quickly that it wasn't a pleasant subject, so for my sake I decided never to do it again. _Though this time he brought it up._ Even though I'm leery of talking about it I don't have a choice now. It's either talk about it or ignore him, that's something I'm not going to do.

"Thank you." My reward for those words is the smirk turning more into a polite smile. But is my hand reaches out to take it my ears are met by confusing words. "It is the least I can do. And if you permit me, I could do more." they are slightly worrisome words is well.

That has my hand retreating a little, even my voice seems smaller when I speak. "I-I don't understand?"

"My apologies..." He picks up on the nervousness in my tone and quickly registers his mistake. "...That sounded far too forward. I did not mean it in that way." There as is much apology in his eyes is in his words, and no sign of deception. But I still find myself startled is he sets the robe on my shoulders.

"It's warm!" My shocked reaction is met with concern. "It is not too hot I hope?"

"No..." I look up at him again from the robe after hearing that and shake my head. "No, it's not. It's just..." _Warm._ The inside of the heavy piece of cloth is warm, very warm actually. It feels is toasty is the electric sleeved blanket from Natasha, she wasn't able to give it in person but she arranged for it to come with my first apartment somehow. _Stop, stop thinking about them.  
_  
"How did you do that?" The question is of honest curiosity, but also a need to distract my mind. I told myself I wouldn't think about my friends anymore, any of them. But saying it and actually doing it are very different things.

The question draws a chuckle from him, mostly due to the almost childlike awe hidden in it. "Well..." Arranging it a little more around my shoulder he finally sits back down, content is my own hands take the edges of the robe and begin to do that task for him.

"I have always found it easier to manipulate the cold, ..." Now sitting he turns his body toward me, his right hand rising between us with the palm up turned. "...but heat is not beyond me." In the cool air around us I can actually see steam rising from his skin.

I feel foolish doing it, but I can't help but stare at that. My eyes flicking from his hand to his grinning face then back to his hand. "D-Does it h-hurt?"

I thought it was a decent question, but it only makes him laugh. "No, Arnora. It does not hurt." He can see the curious desire in my eyes, and offers me permission before I even really recognize it myself. "See for yourself."

While I am still hesitant I am soon given a reason not to be, though I snatch that reason away quickly. Modeus, being near his hand and being a cat becomes curious about his hand and examines it. His little paws wrapping around it and his face pressing against his finger before I grab him under his arms and pull him away.

He is rather upset about the suddenness of it all, but I find my attention toward him somewhere else is he squirms out of my hold. "He's so warm..."I can feel the heat radiating from him, but it doesn't seem to have hurt him in any way. If anything he seems to have liked it, wanting to return to Loki's hand.

This time I do get an explanation, even to questions I haven't asked. "It raises the temperature of the air around an object." The corner of his lip tugs in amusement is Modeus tries to catch his hand again but is only given the normal one, the other one extending back out toward me. "It is quite harmless."

"Right now." I hadn't meant it to sound like an accusation, but the observation is already out and it is too late to take back. There is a small moment of surprise in his eyes at my subtle tone, but before I can add an apology it turns to a smile. "Very quick of you. Yes, I can raise the temperature high enough to inflict pain." His eyes make sure that mine are locked with his. "But I have no wish to do that to you."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound ungrateful." I don't need a tone to catch the hint of accusation in his words back to me, and I find myself feeling ashamed for giving them a reason to be there. "This is just all so foreign to me."

"It will not be this way forever Arnora." Those words are meant to make me feel better, but all they do is draw an exasperated chuckle from me, making him look at me curiously.

"You say that, like I can do 'that'..." That should have gotten a response from him, he gives me none. That's what worries me. "No." I look at him, shaking my head. "No, I. I can't do that... Can I? Is that what you want me for? You think... I have 'magic'?!"

I'm waiting for him to grin and tell me this is a joke, is unlikely is that wish is. I want him to tell me it is a joke, I almost need him to. But his face remains passive and serious. "There is power in your blood Arnora." My interrupting refusal doesn't stop him from continuing. "In your family's blood."

"No, no." The last no is said with a chuckle. "No, my family, they were normal folks, from Maine, not..." But they die, because well I was speaking he continued, and he said a word that stopped me in my tracks. "In the blood you inherited from Saga."

"Sa-Saga?" _No, not a word. Saga is a name. _I remember that 'name' popping into my head before, in the middle of a sentence that made no sense to me. "Saga holds the cup?"

"You remember her?" There is a happy gleam in his eyes, even if he does a good job of keeping it light, doing his best not to let it upset me, even is he makes an irritating request. "Tell me?"

"Tell you?!" I look at him, then away. Shaking my head to hide that I'm gritting my teeth even if only for half a second, the words coming out in a frustrated whisper. "Tell you what? That's all I know. She's a woman with a cup." Letting my head shot back up I make a request of him. "You tell me."

There is sorrow in his eyes and because of it I know what he is going to say, even before he says it. "You won't?" it's so frustrating, I almost want to laugh is much is scream. Yet I sound oddly calm. "Will you?"

The shaking of his head that precedes the words makes them unnecessary, but he says them anyway. "I can't Arnora. You would not believe me if I did."

I shouldn't do it, I know I shouldn't do it, but I can't help it. This whole situation just seems to be building up and up. For every little moment of calm and peace I regain I seem to lose twice is much.

I've accepted the idea that Loki knows me, I've come to terms with that, but that's not what drives me nuts. It's this secrecy. I want to know what he knows, I want to remember. He has all that, it's sitting in his head right in front of me, and I can't get it because he doesn't think I'm ready. "How do you know that?"

My question, given his expression was not one he was ready for. He seems to have expected me to just agree with him like before. But my sanity won't let me. "What makes you think you know what I would believe?"

His eyes close is he lets out a small sigh, his head shaking a little before his eyes lift back to mine. His hand, no longer showing signs of being heated, something that happened without my notice, now reaching to rest against mine. "You are not ready."

"Not ready?!" My voice may be full of emotion, but it is still somewhat quiet. However is I continue it gains in volume. "Not ready, when will I be ready? How do you know? Please, I'm trying here, but you have to give me something? Why are you doing this? What do you!"

And then it dies. Killed by the feeling of his cool hand hooking against the back of my throat, and his breath against my lips.

He doesn't do it though, he doesn't kiss me. He hovers there, not even an inch from pressing his lips against mine, his emerald eyes fixed with my forest colored ones. He just holds me like that, my hands pressed against his chest in an automatic reaction is every inch of me shivers, even the breath escaping my lungs.

"You are not ready." He repeats, and then pulls his hand away, allowing me to retreat. My body moving me back is far into the corner of the couch is I can get it to go. "You do not remember enough yet." He looks almost miserable with the next part, so much so that even frightened is I am I feel guilty because of it. "You would not shrink from me if you did."

"I don't..." His lip tugs at the corner into a sad sort of smile. "I know." But then where I thought he was finished, he continues, giving me words to think on before he leaves me again.

_"__I do this, f_or both of you. You, and Kenna."

* * *

So there was chapter 33. How was it folks? Leave a review please.


	34. Day 6: part 6

Well apparently when I said it will take me a while to post I was lying. Lol. Actually I've had this one sitting in my folder for a while and didn't know where to put it. This spot was perfect.

So Marvel is not mine. Nora, Jareth, Duncan, Modeus, and now Kenna, are.

* * *

_Almost._ She is not quite ready, but she is almost there. Though the progress has been slower than I would wish it, it has been whether quick is well in reality. Six and a half days have passed, no more. For what she has accomplished that is a very short period of time.

She has made undeniable progress though, I can feel it when I touch her, I can see it when I look at her.

Each time she lets me hold her I can feel the difference. The years she spent living in this realm have eroded her body, diminishing her muscles. If I were to only judge her condition by her appearance I would likely not have noticed it, but touching her skin even just once made it clear to me. She is too light, her body has slowly lost its density.

The apples though have begun to correct that. This realm simply lacked the means to sustain her. Asgard, and everything in it is of greater density, from the food to the people. The food on earth was just not sufficient enough, even in large quantity's it would never have been able to support her Asgardian weight.

The apples though are not from this realm, they were and are capable of returning her to that state. Indeed, of all Idunn's apples these are considered some the best. Those of royal blood are naturally given a better grade of fruit than the common people. The restorative and sustaining magic with in those apples is greater then that of the ones given to the peasants.

Only the King himself is given ones of greater effect. _King indeed._ Odin. Nothing but a great deceiver that hides behind his walls and relics to keep himself safe. But this hatred I have for him does come with a small bit of respect. After all, were I in his place I very well might have done the same thing. The best way to control a lion is to make it think it is a lamb.

_A lamb..._ she has surely become one. That is not however how I remember her. She left Asgard with the temper of a lioness, even if she lacked the means and strength to match it. She would have ripped the All-Fathers throat out if she was given but the chance. It is almost a pity she did not, even more so in my ignorance at the time that I would have stopped her.

But perhaps a good thing is well, had things gone differently she might not have been here as she is now. Her banishment turned out to be my benefit. It is ironic that I fought against the All-Fathers sentence, at the time I pleaded her cause. I had no idea that doing so would have taken away a great ally from my future cause.

I will make her into one too. She is almost to that point already, almost ready to serve my purpose. She just needs to regain what she was, and it doesn't matter which one comes first. Her memory or her magic.

Her memory is returning, slowly but still surely. _Kenna._ She said that name once, albeit in her sleep it was still spoken. She remembers her, even if only in her unconscious mind. Though now she remembers it consciously is well, at least the name. I said that word to her in the hopes that it will spark something with in her, that it will speed up the process a little, now I must wait to see.

But if it does not I still have another hand to play. _Her power._ I am calling that out is well. A purpose my little shows of power serve, and even her continued exposure to cat is well. There is power in her, but it has gone untapped for so long it lies asleep with in her. My hope is that by exposing her to the feel of mine, her own will respond and awaken.

There has always been magic in her family's blood. Even if her bloodline is lacking in nobility it does not lack in worth.

Saga was never more than the cup-bearer to a King, but that position was kept by choice. She was never an ambitious woman, in fact if not for the power she possessed she would not have even been that. The honor was given to her, and well she did not wish for it she took it as she saw no reason to turn it down is well. _At least, until the All-Father's decision. _

His decision was well not well looked upon, least of all by her family. Saga valued her descendants more than she valued pleasing her King. While her act of protest was not aggressive, it was still very clear. She abandoned her place is cup bearer. She joined her daughter, choosing to serve in those halls instead.

Odin could do nothing. Saga was within her rights to do is she did, and he had to accept it. If he did not, he risked the loss of a skill set far more important. Saga is valued in the royal court, but it is truly only because of one of her daughters that she is so praised. After all, there is none in Asgard who does not know of the skill of Eir's hands.

* * *

Well there's 34. Now I threw in a new name there. Who knows who Eir is? If you're familiar with Norse mythology you should, and she might even be in the comics ( I haven't found a page for her though...) but anyway, what do you think? Oh and for those who do know, in case any others don't, please don't spoil who Eir is, please and thank you.


	35. Day 6: part 7

Hello. I'm back. Now with the Christmas season over I should start getting back into the swing of things and not taking so long. So here is chapter 35 for you, and all I can say is 'hehehehe' oh yeah, and I don't own Marvel, but I still own Nora, Jareth, Duncan, and Modeus.

* * *

_He thinks I have magic... And he tried to kiss me._ That last part I just find my mind coming back to over and over no matter what I do. Loki tried to kiss me.

Actually that isn't quite right. If he had really wanted to he could have. I may have pushed against his chest, but it wouldn't have been hard for him to overpower me if he wanted.

Now, with the moment over with and only a memory I find it a very strong memory. My mind is fixated on it, and in my mind the moment is even greater. My thoughts have slowed it down, amplifying every little detail I didn't catch in life, the second it took in reality seems like an hour in my head.

I can remember the feel of goosebumps forming as his fingers touched my skin. I can remember the friction as his hand brushed over and through the short hairs back there, then his fingers applying pressure however gently at the base of my skull, making me tilt my face up to his own.

I remember all the thoughts in my head stopping as my heart began to race. I remember the moment of shock taking over and not knowing what to do. I remember betraying everyone I know. _I never said no, I never said stop._ The thought didn't even come to mind.

I didn't give him permission, but I didn't refuse him either. He was about to kiss me and I never even thought to say no. If he really wanted to, he could have just done it. _I feel like a traitor for it._

I have done many things so far that could be called a betrayal of my friends, but this one feels the worst. If I let him kiss me, I can't say I'm just pretending and doing what is necessary to keep him happy. If I let him kiss me it means so much more than that.

I can't touch people like a normal person. Holding hands is hard for me. A kiss means everything, there's nothing casual about it for me, even a kiss on the cheek means so much if it's from me, if I accept it. I never even wanted it to be him. _I wanted it to be...NO!_

I cut my thoughts off, something that is incredibly hard to do, but I won't let myself think that name, not his name. That is a fantasy, nothing more. In fact, until I was here it was a fantasy I didn't even really know I wanted.

I'll never even be able to call him again. _I made him a promise._

I can feel the tears. They happen silently, but the trickles down my cheeks are undeniable. I feel like a traitor again. I've tried so hard not to think of my friends, but that isn't why I feel bad. I feel this way because out of everyone I've had to tell myself not to think about, he is the last one on the list.

I've made him my rock here in this place, and I don't even have the decency to let myself think his name. Even worse is after that thought I still can't do it, if I do I will crack. More than I already have.

I let myself find distraction and comfort in the cat I was given, something it showed no opposition to as I scoop it up into my arms. Modeus is the affectionate little boy he has always been. Given his position he lets his paws rest on my shoulder and rubs his face again my ear purring happily as I bury my face in his fur. It was supposed to make me feel better, but in a way it makes me feel worse.

It's not 'his' kitten. It's not Jareth. _No, not Jareth anymore._ It would be Fairbanks now. When I got that kitten, I gave him nine names. A name for of each of his nine lives. He lost one that day, maybe more than one. He was, _is_, such a little thing, and he hit that shelf so hard, then with the books landing on him... He might very well have died in that closet, all alone by himself and in pain.

The cat in my hands actually cries in surprise as it finds itself suddenly falling out of my arms to the floor. I can't hold it anymore, I can't stand it. I know it is not the feline's fault, it doesn't even understand why I did what I just did, but it doesn't change the feelings in me. _That's not my baby, that never should have been my baby._

All these rampant emotions are beginning to make my head throb. It's almost so bad I kind of wish Loki's hands were back, only his hand though. I would be okay if the rest of him stayed away, even if the reality of how that would work is actually a horrible wish.

In the desire to clear my head I decide that the wash basin might be useful. My plan though doesn't really go any further than my feet bringing to it. The ache in my head making me stop there as I try to massage it away.

Even closing my eyes doesn't help this borderline migraine. When I do that I can see things behind my lids, things I would rather not look at. A pair of green eyes is imprinted in my head, his eyes. _The shade is so like his._ Yet as much as I don't want to see his almond eyes, each time I blink I find myself almost craving the ones burned into my irises. _I want to see those round little eyes._

…_!_ "No..." My own eyes lift to the mirror in front of me, tears, and horror in them as I pray the thought I just had is wrong. "No God, please no..." Those eyes, those green eyes look like mine.

* * *

I've been building to a rule breaker/game changer moment for a while, and nothing changes the game like THAT. I had originally intended to draw it out a little more before that came up, possibly to get a different POV in before it did, but it was one of those things where it just decided it was time while I was writing it and I didn't argue.

So who likes that ending? Opinion? Question? Anything? Oh, and of course pictures will be posted at the Photobucket the link is in the profile if you weren't already aware.


	36. Day 6: part 8

Hello again. This chapter took a little bit because I couldn't decide who I wanted to use for it, I settled with Nora again. Anyways, I don't own Marvel or its characters. Nora, Jareth, Duncan, and Modeus are mine though. Disclaimer over, read on.

* * *

_It makes sense, it all makes sense._ I don't want it to though, I want to go away, and I hate myself for that. How could I forget something like that? Worse yet, how could I want to forget that again.

It's true. As soon as I realized it, I wanted to forget it. I didn't want to know. I have spent the last three years not knowing this, and I wanted that back. _I wanted to forget that I had a beautiful baby, that I was a mother._

The mirror was destroyed first. I didn't even feel it as my hand went through the glass, the thin spindles holding it there breaking free from the rest of the washstand and sending it crashing to the floor. It wasn't enough. Nothing would ever be enough.

The memories of all the pieces, all the little clues in my life are ricocheting around in my head.

I valued family, nothing was ever more important to me than that. Nothing was ever more important to me than those close to my heart.

The water pitcher spills to the floor as I grab the wash basin and swing at the wardrobe with a scream, unconcerned as the spreading water is dyed pink with my dripping blood. The porcelain bowl within it smashing to pieces against the door.

I loved the sight of children, I always did. Once I was allowed to leave the base I would sometimes go to parks, just to watch them play and laugh. I loved their innocence. I was even a little jealous. It stung sometimes, thinking how the parents could hold their children without fearing their skin. I thought I might never have that.

The wooden frame struck the door so hard it's thin carved spindles shattered into pieces, but they soon found something else to grab. The towel rack is in my hands. It hits the tub so hard my hands hurt from the vibration as the metal bends.

I used animals as a substitute. Even before I was given Modeus, even before Jareth. I would spend time volunteering to take care of K9 units just so I got to spend time with the dogs. They were always so happy when I came to feed them and clean their kennels. Their handlers didn't even mind that I played with the dogs.

My arms numb with pain, but I don't stop. The vanity is next. The things on it are spared only by how quickly they are shoved to the floor. The lamp and the mirror attached to it are not. The pieces of flying glass nick my arms even more when I viciously beat the mirror into oblivion just to avoid seeing my eyes. _Those eyes._

I even thought that I might adopt a child someday. I was sure that eventually I might be comfortable with touching again, but the idea of being able to physically have my own child always seemed out of reach just because of what it entailed.

The top of the vanity is more like I crater now, and even my bones feel like they are shaking and bleeding from the force I am putting into each strike.

_Mother. Child. Baby._ These words are like red hot screws in my head and I just want the rest of me to hurt more.

I had something precious. Something that meant the world to me. _Something stolen from me._ I would have never given up my child. I don't know what I was like before, but I don't need to remember to know that. I would have fought, I would have died to keep a child of mine. _I would kill for a child of mine._

I don't even remember taking them into my hands. The chairs are in pieces and the table is cracked, lying on its side. There are slivers in my knuckles.

I always loved children, I loved the very idea of them. I wanted to be a mother someday. Yet, now that I am, I want to forget. I am kneeling in the middle of blood stained shattered glass and wood, praying past the choking scream. _I just want to forget._ I want to forget that I FORGOT my baby.

* * *

Okay, there is Nora's reaction. We all knew she was gonna snap sometime. I don't blame her, I'd snap over something like that too. I know it's a short chapter, but it is one of those that doesn't need to be long to make its point.

_So leave a review. It might make Nora feel better...maybe._


	37. Day 6: part 9

Here is another chapter for you wonderful people. I still do not own Marvel. Nora, Jareth, Duncan, and Modeus are mine.

* * *

_Shit! I can't believe I am doing this._ This has got to be one of the stupidest things I am ever gonna do. It's not like I can go back and undo it now though, all I can do is keep moving forward. I knew this when I did it too, when I sent out that code.

Once S.H.I.E.L.D receives that code, even if they take their time about it, the world would now be running on the clock. There is only so much time it would take them to respond, and that is running out.

Unfortunately, I have to wait for it to run out completely. If I act too soon and they aren't here it will not end well for me. I never did like waiting, it makes me antsy. But I have a cover for it.

I'm still rather unhappy with the situation involving the woman, but in a way, she did me a favor. I can use that situation as a mask for any irritation that shows through.

_Can't believe I'm doing this for a woman._ My original orders had nothing to do with her, or the bastard keeping her. I didn't even know they existed until my real assignment made a deal with this psycho and gave him some of his men. I was furious, but I couldn't show it. It would blow my cover.

I'd been working in deep cover on that arms dealer for years. A bastard who had no qualms about selling everything from your usual bombs and guns to chemical weapons, all to any terrorist that can pay.

I'm still furious about it, but I had to do it, I had to follow his order. I'm a 'mercenary' after all. I don't care what the job is as long as I get paid. That's who Duncan Blackwood is, a hired guard with a gun.

Duncan doesn't care who he works for, Duncan doesn't argue with his boss. So if the 'boss' want to assign him to a new 'boss' for a while, Duncan will do it.

This is bigger than an arms dealer. This 'boss' is so much bigger. I didn't take long to figure that one out. My partner in crime here didn't take long to see it either. _This 'Loki' who ever he is was a big deal._ He took on S.H.I.E.L.D and made off with one of their secrets and a few of their agents.

_Duncan doesn't let what's going to happen to that woman happen._ After the change in assignment happened I got a message to MI-6. They said stay on this one, sit it out and keep them informed if I could. _I can't do that anymore._ I learned what he is going to do to her.

I'm breaking cover for a woman I barely know. I can't do anything else. That woman is in more trouble than she has any idea of, and she is walking head first right into it. _She needs to be running from it instead._

This is too big for me now, too big for either of us really. I knew it would have to happen eventually anyway. We would have to drop the assignment and get out. Whatever this man has planned is bigger than MI-6. I could tell just from the way I got those orders. This thing has a lot of people in very high places afraid.

I expected a bit more of a warning. My hands were busy with the last step of cleaning my gun when it happened. I was sliding the magazine back in place with a satisfying click when I vaguely heard someone mention the time stamp on the surveillance feed wasn't working.

Then it was dark. Then it was very bright, and loud.

The mention of the time stamp gave me at least a little warning and let me at least try to minimize the damage to my senses. I managed to close my eyes and clasp my hands over my ears before the damn flash bang went off.

_Bloody hell. I HATE those things when I'm not the one using them._ Shaking my head I try to get the stars in them to dim a little. I don't have time to sit here dizzy. I need to find Terrance and the woman. Terry should be in the 'hospital'. Since he has trained as a field medic he was assigned to watch over the archer and Dr Seuss. Once I have him with me the plan is to collect the woman and get out of here as quick as possible.

"HA!" The glint in the corner of my eye despite the many others was different enough to warn me of the danger. Rolling out of the way I avoided getting a baton to the side of my head. The one who attacks me isn't so lucky, my heel bending his knee the wrong way.

He crumples with a cry of pain, or at least the beginnings of one. I don't let him have the luxury of breathing long enough to keep it up. Wrapping one arm around his throat from behind I lock it there by hooking my elbow in the crease of my other arm, applying the pressure needed to close his airway.

_Stop struggling and go to sleep you son of a bitch, that's right, sleeeep._ He tries to break free, striking at me with his fists when he can't manage to throw me off. He even tries to reach what is probably a gun at his waist, but he never gets the chance. I don't know if it was a gun or not, but I am not in the mood to take the chance. I slam both of us against the metal table hard, the back of his hand taking all the force and very likely breaking a few of the bones there in the process.

Finally he goes limp, and I let my vice grip on his windpipe end, his body crumbling without any grace to the floor. I imagine he will be even more miserable from that landing when he wakes up, but I don't care. The agent is lucky I didn't kill him. _...That's not an agent? Shit._

Looking closer now that my vision is clearing I found myself even more upset. The man who just tried to club me in the head isn't a S.H.I.E.L.D agent, it's a cop. They got the local police force involved in this. I can understand the logic in that, they probably wanted them for the numbers. _It's still a horrible idea._

Terrance is going to have to take care of himself. He can do it too. I would like to go and get him just to make sure, but I am still confident enough in his ability to not die to let him handle his own safety. That woman on the other hand, she'll never make it out of here on her own, and she needed to.

She has spent far more time with the terrorist leading this group than anyone. That alone makes her incredibly valuable as an information source. It doesn't hurt that I've kind of developed a soft spot for her too, even if she doesn't like me back.

Letting my hands 'see' the pistol I just put back together I snatch it up and shove it back into my holster. I have my destination, and it's not where everyone else is going. They are headed towards the invading force, but I'm running the other way. Let these guys fight it out, my target is more important.

By the time I reach the tunnel with her room in it most of them have either herded the scientists away to keep them safe or have gone to deal with the enemy. _Well their enemy at least._

There is only one soldier visible in the dimly lit room. He is in front of the door to her room, standing there looking very unsure about the situation. His expression is only visible to me since either he or someone no longer in the room got one of the field lights working again. My expression is visible to him too.

"What th' heel ur ye still daein' thaur?!" _Oh mother of god, are you kidding me!_ The 'soldier', a kid who doesn't look like he is even twenty, actually flinches at my tone. It's clear he hasn't seen real combat, which is kind of sad because by joining up with people against S.H.I.E.L.D he might never see it 'again', or anything else for that matter.

My pity for him though doesn't extend very far. "The idea is tae gonnae-no them afair they reach 'er, nae bide fur them!" Again he almost jumps. Then he seems to remember who he is, or what he is supposed to be. "But I wasn't ordered to move?"

My initial answer is cut off by the sound of another flash bang. It was far enough away that it didn't blind or deafen me, but it still stings like a son of a bitch.

Shaking the discomfort away again I glare back at him trying not to see spots as I stand back from the instinctive small crouch."Still need that order?" The idiot in front of me got tense as well, but he almost crouched all the way down. Realizing that they are not yet in the room he tries to put on a brave face when he finally answers. "No I..., wait?! What happened to your accent?!"

I don't even bother answering as his eyes go wide with a choked gasp before they roll back in his head and his body hits the floor revealing another. "We need to hurry. 'Alice' is waiting."

* * *

"What the hell are you still doing there?!"

"The idea is to stop them before they reach her, not wait for them!"

* * *

So there is 37, and if no one got the 'Alice' reference refer back to chapter 26. You know the drill, leave a review please and thank you.


	38. Day 6: part 9 'n a half

So here is yet another chapter, and this has been a long time coming. I have been trying to get him back here forever but he was being stubborn.

But, Anyways, without further ado I remind you that I don't own Marvel. Nora, Jareth, Duncan and Modeus are mine though.

Also, the West Ice thing is an actual event in history, that I tweaked a little to fit the story. The West Ice accidents.

* * *

_I don't have time, not for him or the body at my feet. I only have time for 'Alice'._ Alice. I haven't used that name for her in years. It is what we called her when she woke up. We told her that we gave her an alias, Alice Hudgens, so no one could find her. We told her that someone might try to kill her if we weren't there to protect her, that someone had tried to kill her. _We told her that so she wouldn't try to leave._

We knew she wasn't human, S.H.I.E.L.D had her for forty years before she woke up and knew all along what she wasn't. That's why they had her, when they formed back in the seventies that's one of the first things they did, take Nora into their custody.

The CIA had her before we did. They found her on a ship in the west ice area of Greenland. They were hunting down remnants of WWII. Some HYDRA officers had fled to Norway after it became clear that they were going to lose. There was a base of theirs already from the German occupation of Norway. HYDRA found more than the cube in Norway. They found Nora there too.

_They did horrible things to her. They called it science._

I was assigned to monitor her by Fury. I was 'guarding' her, that's what we told her. That was the lie we told her. My real orders were to kill her if she presented a threat. That was the condition in which the Council 'allowed' her to live. They wanted me to kill her because she made them nervous.

I only needed to step into the room they had her in to know one thing right away. No matter how nervous her existence made those assholes, they would never be as afraid as she was.

She took one look at me, and I could see her trying to shrink away into that hospital bed, shaking because she was so scared and confused.

When she woke up she broke a man's wrist, that was the first thing she did, unless you count the screaming.

She woke up screaming and struggling because she 'remembered'. The actual memories of what they did to her weren't there, but subconsciously she remembered what had to have seemed like an eternity of agony and fear. _HYDRA had her for ten years._

Her body remembered the horrors they put her through even if her mind didn't. _She is lucky she never remembers, it's a blessing._

When the CIA took those ships they found paperwork as well. HYDRA wasn't an organization that was known for paperwork, they usually destroyed things like that to keep their secrets secret. They found files about Nora thought. Test results and pictures and itinerary. I read them all, I 'know' what they did to her. The worst thing was those pictures, I wish I never saw those damn pictures. _Black and white never looked so disgusting._

She never knew that kind of fear, not in the life we made for her. I wasn't supposed to become attached to her, I was supposed to stay objective and professional. _I sure as hell tried to._ I couldn't do it though, not with the way she looked at me.

We told her that I was the one that found her after the explosion, we told her I knew her, that I had worked with her parents. We made a connection for her to attach to, and she did. _Oh god did she ever._

She did exactly what S.H.I.E.L.D was hoping she would do. She saw me as something safe and certain in a world that was frightening and unknown. _She made me her rock. _Whenever she got scared it was me that she looked to for strength. _Me, like she needed anything from 'me'._ I was supposed to be her killer.

I was her first 'thank you', she said those words to me when I showed up with a pair of gloves for her, the first pair of many.

I was her first real introduction to music. She believed me when I told her that Pat Benatar was one of the greatest pioneers in the music industry. _I told her that Pat and Beethoven were in the same league._

I was her first introduction to food, not that crap they serve in the hospitals. It was only a muffin from the vending machine but when she took a bite her eyes lit up like fireworks, she thought it was the best thing in the world and only cost me 50¢. _That was worth giving up my lunch for._

I was her first 'hero'.

_I was her first betrayal._

_That bastard._ He showed up, completely out of left field and he ruined everything. I felt him take me from me. It's like watching a movie, but there's no pausing it or muting it. There's no turning it off. There's no looking away. There's no control. _It's like being in a glass room, but this glass is a mile thick and no matter how loud I scream I'm not heard._

_But I heard her._

I heard her machine answer her phone and even as 'my' voice left that message I prayed to god that she wasn't home, that she wouldn't be home. I was begging the universe to be kind to me and let her be out shopping or something.

I heard the relief in her voice when she recognized 'my' voice at the door. I started screaming then. I begged her not to open that door, I begged her to run from 'me'. I could hear the thoughts in 'my' head, and I wanted to die. _'I' wanted to hurt her._

I heard her doubt and uncertainty. I was never so happy in my life at the thought of her not trusting 'me' as I was right that second. I begged her to stop talking, to stop giving herself away and just run.

I heard her scream when 'I' blew her door off its hinges and entered her home, I heard her voice shake when she said my name. _She hadn't done that in years, not since the first few weeks in the hospital._

I saw the 'weapon' in her hand. It was only a letter opener but I was so proud of her for that, for having the sense and courage to threaten 'me', even with just that. I was proud of her, and terrified for her.

I just kept screaming at her not to listen to 'me', to stop talking and just go! I knew she wouldn't make it, but I couldn't stand seeing her there in front of 'me', afraid of 'me'. I couldn't stand hearing and feeling what 'I' wanted do to her. This thing running my body wanted her screams and her blood.

There was only one word in my head when 'I' saw her guard drop and 'my' body moved. Only one word. _NO!_

I felt her skin under 'mine', I felt her throat in 'my' hand, and I wanted to puke. I knew what I was doing to her, what it was doing to her, and I was disgusted. This thing was using me to attack a woman who I cared about and had the blessing of being her 'brother' was enjoying her suffering, I had to feel that.

She could barely breathe, but what air she could get she was wasting on saying my name. I was weeping now. Crying and screaming and promising to do vicious murderous things to the person hurting her, I didn't care that it was my body, my flesh. I would carve it right off my bones just to make sure it never touched her again.

She hit 'me'. I felt it. That I actually enjoyed this time. It burned and hurt, and I was glad. Glad that this thing could feel pain and did. I wanted it to suffer. I hoped it would blind 'me', the scalding soup that splashed over 'my' face when she struck 'me' with the hot pot full of food.

I tried to take control when I felt her slip from 'my' grasp. I had been trying the whole time, but I tried harder in that moment, harder than I thought possible. I was hoping and praying and begging that I could give her just a little more time, just a little more so she could get away from 'me'.

If I could somehow give her more time than maybe the agents would be able to get here soon enough. _Maybe they could stop 'me' from hurting her._ She would cry for me, but it would be okay because 'I' wouldn't be hurting her anymore. I would be okay with that. They could kill me, I wouldn't mind. _I wanted them to._

Her head made a hollow sound when 'I' tackled her, slamming both of us into her hardwood floor and taking disgusting pleasure in the thought that 'I' might have broken her nose. There isn't a strong enough word in any language for the level of hate I felt toward myself for that.

I couldn't even scream the words anymore. As I felt 'my' body grab her wrist and roll her over onto her back all I could feel is disgust. This thing was getting off on the idea of hurting her. It had fantasies running through its head about what it could do to her in this position. It was actually disappointed it had to deliver her alive and that it wouldn't have the time.

It wanted the chance to have her alone, and torture her until she broke completely. Not just with pain. No, that wasn't good enough for this thing. It wanted her terror too. It wanted to touch her. It wanted to turn me into a rapist because it found her beautiful.

I loved this woman like a sister. She called me family, she trusted me, and yes I too found her beautiful. I hated myself, I hated my body with every ounce of my being. I wanted to cut that damn thing off me because I could feel it. I could feel my body reacting to this thing's disgusting sense of pleasure.

I was screaming again. I could feel 'my' fingers wrap around the handle of the knife. I could feel it slide from the sheath and press against her skin. I heard it make her an offer, and felt its sick hope that she would refuse. I felt her blood pool against the side of 'my' hand as it drove a knife through her leg and heard her scream.

It was actually a relief when I felt those claws sink into 'my' skin. I didn't care who saved her at this point, just that she was saved. If a kitten was the one who would do it I couldn't think of a better one than her little Jareth. I met the kitten several times since Nora came out here and it got along fine with me, but I was very glad that it had the sense to react to a threat even from a familiar form.

I felt horrible when 'I' got it off me and threw it into the bookshelf, even more when 'it' became happy hearing each book land on it. I felt better when she hit 'me' with that table though.

I don't know how she did it, but she did. That knife was embedded deep into that wood and should have stuck there, but she yanked it out of the floor and out of her leg as well. She must have crawled to that table before she grabbed and swung it straight at 'my' head. 'I' blocked it from actually connecting with 'my' skull but she still put enough force into it that it sent 'me' crashing to the floor, feeling dizzy. She had me singing her praise. I wished she hit me harder.

It didn't last. 'I' recover far too quickly for my enjoyment and was back on 'my' feet screaming at her, this time it was actually heard, but it was angry and not me.

'I' blew that door off its hinges to. 'I' could have tried kicking it in but 'I' figured she had it barricaded. The one in control of my body was pissed at the idea she would do something like that. The real me was glad. It would buy her at least a few seconds. With enough 'few seconds' the agents would have to show up eventually. They were probably not far behind us. That is what I kept praying for.

She tried to shoot' me'. God how I wish her shots had hit 'me'. She pointed a gun at 'me' and fired. 'I' broke her wrist for that. 'I' slammed her hand into the corner of her nightstand until 'I' heard and felt the bones give under the force and 'I' enjoyed it.

'I' jerked her around by it too, just to hear her scream again. It gave 'me' shivers. I swore I was going to kill myself for this, I was going to shove a gun in my mouth and blow my damn head off.

'I' had my hands crushing her throat and feeling her struggle and claw at 'me' trying to get free. 'I' told her it would be okay. I had to look at her eyes.

I wanted to kill him, I could hear footsteps in the hallway behind me, and I wanted to kill him. 'I' wanted it too. This thing controlling my body was mad, angry at Loki for showing up and taking away its chance to do what it wanted to do. At least in that regard I was glad he showed up. I hated the bastard more than I have hated anything in my life, but he kept 'me' from doing something worse to my 'sister'.

He took her from 'me'. I hated that as much as I liked it. 'I' couldn't hurt her if 'I' wasn't touching her, I was okay with that part, even happy that 'I' couldn't touch her anymore. 'I' couldn't put my blood stained hands on her, hands stained with _her_ blood.

I was supposed to be the person who kept her safe. I was her protector, her brother, her hero. She named me these things. 'I' was her first betrayal, and he made 'me' keep betraying her.

Time after time it was because of him that 'I' kept hurting her. 'I' hit her, grabbed her, yelled at her, abandoned her. He even made 'me' rip off her clothes, and that _stupid girl sacrificed herself for me._

I wanted him to kill me, I was begging for it. I was glad I wasn't eating or sleeping. I was waiting for 'my' body to burn out and drop dead so 'I' couldn't hurt her again. I kept telling myself Nora would be okay. Natasha would find her. Natasha would rip the world apart looking for us once she knew we were missing. Natasha would find her. Loki would die. Nora would be safe.

Then 'I'm' called into a room that looked disturbingly like a hospital room with the doctor. I wanted to run from that room. I didn't need to be told why 'I' was there, I could guess and I didn't want it. But 'I' sat down on that table and let some English bastard stick IV after IV into 'me' and drug 'me' into unconsciousness.

I don't know how long 'I' laid like that, unconscious but not asleep. I couldn't see or move because 'my' eyes were closed and 'my' body was shut off by the drugs. But in my head I was awake and aware, and I could hear. I hated every second of what I heard.

I heard him, Loki. The bastard ruining everything in my life. He came to talk to me, he came to gloat. He told that me that even unconscious I was helping him and that he was grateful for my contribution. He told me what he was going to do to this world. He told me about the time he spent with Nora. He spared no detail in that.

Then I heard her voice. I've heard her voice with laughter and joy. This time she tried to keep it steady, but I only heard tears as she said my name. I begged her to stop talking, I couldn't stand the idea that she was crying, and I couldn't do anything about it.

She asked me how I was doing. It broke my heart. 'I' hurt her, 'I' beat her and tortured her, and she wanted to know how I was doing. She cared, despite what 'I' did to her she cared about me. I hated that, I hate it still. I don't deserve that. _I was supposed to be her killer._

_She killed me instead._ She gave me up. She told me to leave her here, to abandon her and save myself. I felt her hot tears burning against my skin as they dripped there. She gave me up because she thought her life was less important than mine.

She used those stupid code-names we had when she was in the hospital. She was Alice because she fell into Wonderland and didn't know what the world was like. I was her Red Knight because I found her first.

She forgot the part where the Red Knight doesn't leave her by herself, he leaves her with the White Knight, not the Mad Hatter. She forgot the part where my life isn't a story.

I heard her words and felt her pain and all I did was scream, I screamed without end because in your mind you need no air. I never stopped screaming, I never stopped struggling.

Not even when I heard a different voice. The message he gave me made me fight harder. The message came with pain, physical pain. He shoved something else in my veins, and it felt like fire, but I didn't care. He told me Nora was in danger, Nora might die.

I don't have time for the body of the boy at my feet. I don't have time for this fake Scottish asshole. I only have time for Nora, and anything that keeps me from that will die.

"We need to hurry. 'Alice' is waiting." That is all the attention I spare on him, choosing instead to focus on more important things, like opening that damn door and reminding Nora that I really can be her hero, and that I'm so damn sorry.

* * *

There it is, the long awaited Clint chapter. I know it has been forever coming, I'm sorry. Clint though, as we all know, is a stubborn man and refused to wake up any sooner. lol.

So now that he is back though, what do you think? Was he worth the wait?


	39. Day 7: part 1

Insert random pointless disclaimer here yet again. I do not own Marvel or its characters. Nora, Jareth, Duncan, Modeus, and Kenna are mine though.

* * *

I almost didn't catch her. It happened all very quickly, but the second the door was open she was right there, right on top of him. She must have heard the commotion happening. She probably even heard us talking, however brief it was. She was waiting and ready behind that door.

I'm not going to lie, I was proud of her attempt, but I couldn't let her do it. She was moving quickly, but she still wasn't faster than me. The second I saw that point extending out passed her hand I was moving too. She actually touched him before I got my arms around her and dragged her back into the room.

She tried to kill him, she wanted to do it. That should have made me proud, instead it only hurt. Nora never wanted to hurt anything, it wasn't who she was. She was always the one who tried to heal people, not harm them. _How did I fail her so bad that it came to this?_

She was screaming as I pulled her back into the room, struggling against me like a wild animal, trying to rip her arms free from the hold I had around them. I had to cover her mouth because I couldn't let her attract attention. I put my skin right against hers and I cringed while doing it. She should be screaming after what I did to her. _I'm so sorry Princess._

Her attack startled him. He actually looked a little shaken by seeing the murderous intent in her sweet innocent eyes. He didn't stay shocked long though, thank god. Recovering his senses while I drag my struggling 'sister' back in the room he shuts the door, dragging the heavy chair in front of it. It's one of the few things left to barricade the door with. _Good lord Nora, what made you do this?!_

_The room is in pieces._ Everything she could feasibly destroy she did. I know she was the one to do it too, I know it because I can feel the blood and cuts on her skin. _God Nora..._ her arms and hands are torn apart, deep angry lines and pieces of wood and glass still stuck in her skin. _...what happened to you?_

She never fought me like this, not even when she should have. She didn't have this much fight in her when I almost killed her back there, in her own home. A home _I_ picked for her. She doesn't have the skill or strength to escape me but when I look her now, she scares me.

I don't know this woman I am holding, and that scares me. I can't see the woman I know in her shape anymore. I'm not sure what I was hoping for or expecting when I opened that door, it wasn't this though. I thought she would be afraid of me, if anything that was what I expected.

I figured she would be afraid at first. I would scare her because of what 'I' did to her. I would have to show I wasn't 'him' anymore. I would have to make her look at me, so she would see I was really me again. I figured she might cry, and maybe I would dare to hold her just to make those tears stop.

I didn't expect her to try and kill the first thing through that door with a broken piece of pottery! She has that damn thing clenched so tightly in her fist it has little rivers of blood running down her arm to drip onto the concrete. I rip that thing from her the second I get her back in the room and turned around, pinning her to the wall.

"Nora! Stop!" It works, my voice full of pleading makes her stop. Her eyes finally look at mine as I hold her there, one hand wrapped around her wrists and the other still over her mouth. There is so much going on in those eyes. I can she see shock and confusion and joy, I can the edge of tears. _I can see rage?_

She struggles against me again, just as furiously as before. Trying to break free, trying to jerk her head out of my hold so the word muffled behind my hand can break free."Nora, stop. It's me you gotta..."

"You want me to take her?" His voice interrupts mine and I whirl around on him so quick I can see him tense at the unspoken threat. "Get to work on the damn floor!" If he can't read the level of pissed in my eyes then he a very stupid spy.

_Calm Clint. Be calm._ I have to keep telling myself that. She doesn't need to see me 'not calm'. _She's seen enough of that already._

"Okay..." Getting myself calm enough again that I dare look her in the eye I turn back to face her, still having to hold her to keep her there and quiet despite how much I don't want to. "...Nora, you have to stop, it's me okay. It's me, you HAVE to stop, IT'S ME I swear it's ME okay? I'm not going to hurt you, I'm not. You need to calm down." It isn't working, I can only see her eyes, but I only need that much to know it's not working. And I don't have time.

"It's ready." Glancing over my shoulder at him I let my gaze dart between him and the floor. The thin plastic cording has been pressed into the floor, making a nice large oval shape big enough for our escape. My eyes fly back up his a second later, giving him a "Do it." before I turn my attention back to her. "I'm sorry for this Kiddo, but we gotta move."

That makes her struggle more, and I hate that. I just told her we were leaving, and she is fighting me on the idea. It's like she wants to stay. _No way in hell though._ I can hear her words from before, her crying and telling me to leave her behind, and that's the only thing I can think of to explain why she is doing this. _I'm not leaving you. Not a chance. Not again._

I can hear the hissing heat of the ring burning through the concrete floor give way to a loud shattering thunk as the section of the floor finally falls out and gives us access to the level beneath us. She was put in this room because it only had one exit, we had to make a new one. I sure as hell wasn't going to walk her back out that door into an invasion.

I'm getting her as far away from here as I can, as fast as I can. Whether she wants me to or not.

Releasing her for a split second I adjust my hold on her. This time instead of pinning her to the wall I wrap my arm around her waist, the other hand going back to covering her mouth as she draws a breath to scream. _Please Nora, stop doing that. You have no idea how bad that hurts me baby. I'm so sorry._

Lifting her off her feet I bring us to the edge of the hole in the floor. "Go." The man going by 'Duncan' here spares a look at the fighting woman in my arms but doesn't question it. After a second his eyes are back on mine, and he nods, then he jumps down through the hole, being careful to avoid the still hot sides. She's next.

That's why I needed him down there. I'm not dropping her without someone to catch her. I hate the idea because I know it's going to scare her, being caught by someone like that, but it's better than the concrete catching her, even if it is him. I'm not exactly fond of the guy. But he will catch her, and he will keep her from running.

"I'm sorry." I can feel her stiffening up as her eyes register the hole and what I'm about to do to her. "I'm sorry sweetheart." I know it scares her, but I know I have to do it. This time I don't want more seconds, I want less. I need to keep her out of the clutches of anything that might come through that door.

"You gotta relax." I instruct her as I get her over the hole. Her feet are trying to find a hold on some ground I am refusing to let her touch and her hands are now trying to cling to my arms rather than pry them off. "I won't let you get hurt okay? Don't reach for the sides and bend your legs, you'll be fine." _God Nora, please stop shaking._"He's going to catch you. He will."

He does too. I feel her weight leave my arms and hear it hit him. The sound of a body hitting a body is much different than one hitting a floor.

With her down there I shift my focus away for a moment to do what I have to do. Grabbing the rope out of my pocket I whip it out to its full length and with a quick flick of my wrist it is looped over the carved top of the armoire. This over sized excuse of a closet is going to cover our exit, at least for a little while.

As I jump down the hole I curl into a ball, shielding my head with my arms as pieces of the mirror on the front of it shatter and rain down on me. That isn't my concern though for more than a second. Glancing up I check to make sure the hole was covered then yank the rope free so they don't see it on the other side.

My attention is back on Nora. My eyes are still adjusting to the darkness but I can tell she was giving him a hell of a time. I can hear her crying beyond the muffle of his hand. I don't need another reason. My knuckles feel his jaw.

He either didn't see it or wasn't expecting it because his body stumbles backwards and hers is released. She is free, and she is running. But what she runs to surprises me. She runs straight into me, crying and striking out. Her words though shock me so much that for a few seconds I can't even move.

"WHERE IS MY BABY?! WHERE IS SHE?! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY BABY?!"

* * *

Another Clint POV chapter to make up for the VERY long wait I have made you all endure to see him again.

Oh, and please leave a review. All reviews are dedicated to my awesome beta, KevlarKitten, who even though she was sick still edited my stuff. Leave great reviews and make her feel better okay?


	40. Day 7: part 2

Yet another chapter to add to the list. Just like before I do not own Marvel or its characters. Nora, Jareth, Duncan, Modeus, and Kenna are mine though. Enjoy.

* * *

_What S.H.I.E.L.D did to me._ That is what he said. Erik said S.H.I.E.L.D did something to me. I have been with them ever since I woke up. For that to have happened I must have been with them longer than that. _It has to be them._

That was what ran through my head after Clint's voice said my name and got my attention, after I saw 'Clint' back in his eyes again. For one second I was so happy to see him, then that thought came. _It had to be them._

I planned on escaping this room when that door open. I didn't care how I did it or who I hurt. I had to get out of here and find my baby, that was all I cared about. That was what I was trying to do when that door opened before I was caught and dragged back in.

Now I am just pounding against his chest or anything I can hit, screaming and crying and wanting to know why. _You were my 'Brother'! Why Clint?! Why would you take my baby?!_ "GIVE HER BACK YOU BASTARD! WHERE IS SHE?! WHERE'S MY BABY?!"

I only get five blows in before he recovers his wits and catches my wrists. That doesn't stop me from trying though. "Nora! Stop!" I don't, I can't, I won't. I need to find my little girl, I can remember her face and that is all that matters to me, finding her so I can see her face again.

"We don't have time for this!" That stops me though. I know that voice, but it's wrong. Turning my eyes I find Duncan, but that can't be right. Duncan has an accent, a very heavy accent. That's not Duncan's voice. The furious one that answers it back is exactly how it should be. "Shut the hell up! Check that it's clear. THIS gets time!"

That brings my eyes back to his, the tone in his voice confusing me and bringing even more tears to my eyes. He sounds concerned, but I don't understand it. Even 'Duncan's' protest once again doesn't change it. "I said check it..." I can tell he wants to yell again, but he keeps his eyes on mine and his voice soft. "...she gets time."

I can't even keep up the struggle, I'm crying too hard now. But that doesn't stop me pleading as I hear heavy boots take off behind me. "Please Clint, my baby? Where is my baby?"

"Nora sweetheart, stop." He says, smiling sadly at me as his hand comes up like it wants to pull me into a hug, but he doesn't know what to do with it. "Stop. You don't have a baby. Did that bastard tell you that? You don..."

He stops dead. "I remember her, I remember her!" My words stop him dead in his tracks, and if it wasn't for my voice rising again to a yell I'm not sure the look of shock would have left his face.

"Hey! Hey, hey, hey! Calm down." This time his hand does know what it wants to do. His fingers rest against the back of my head and tilt it so he can look straight into my eyes. That's one thing Clint always was good at, he could touch me and never touch the skin. "Calm down baby, you gotta calm down."

"Please..." My whimper is cut off again by his "Shh baby" but most of his attention is still on my eyes. He's looking for a lie. That terrifies me. He's checking to see MY words are true. He doesn't know. "A baby?! Nora? You have a...baby?!"

I can't stop crying now. I can't stop shaking and sobbing. I was so sure that S.H.I.E.L.D had my baby, that Clint knew and had kept that from me but if he has to check then he doesn't know, and if they were keeping her from me he would know. _If not them then who?!_

"Nora, you're a mother?!" He asks, his voice still full of shock and doubt, and all I can do is shake my head yes and cry. "You didn't know?! They don't have my baby?! You didn't know?!"

"Shshshsh." This time his hand pulls me forward, letting me bury my face the jacket on his shoulder. "Shh Princess. God no." He says, trying to calm me down even as his voice gets a bit angry. "If I knew you had a kid Nora, God you'd be holding it right now."

"I-I ne-e-ed to-to go back." That brings the anger out in his tone "No." and the desperation in mine.

"Clint please, he knows! He knows where my ba...!"

"Nora! He is going after S.H.I.E.L.D!"

This time it is my voice that stops dead. I can't even get the word 'what' out I am so frozen by those words, but I don't have to, Clint can see it. "He is going after S.H.I.E.L.D Nora. He's going to take them down." His voice is calmer now, but no less serious.

"What? Why?" I sound so small saying those words and it matches how I feel. _Take down S.H.I.E.L.D? Is that even possible?_ I become even smaller as he keeps speaking.

"He has the Cube Nora. He took the Cube when he took us. That's why Erik is here, that's why I'm here. He's going to use it, you know what that means." Even my breath hitches at that as I start shaking my head another bout of sobs attacking me. "No..., no, no, no, no, no..." I don't want to make this choice, please don't make me make this choice.

_S.H.I.E.L.D._ It's not just an organization. It's people. People I know, I care about, I love. It's Natasha, and Coulson, and Sitwell. It's Steve. "Please Clint no..." I lift my head, meeting his, nothing but begging in my eyes. "It's my baby, please no... Don't make me do this."

"I'm sorry." He doesn't even pause to think about my skin, his fingers are wiping the tears off my cheek. I don't even care about that it, my shaking and sobs already so great that this new sensation doesn't even matter. "I'm so sorry. I know I'm a bastard for this, ..." I can't even catch my breath long enough to say anything about it, he doesn't give me the chance. "...for so much."

Now both hands are on my cheeks, holding my head still and making me look at him. "I will help you Nora, help you find your baby." I'm crying so hard I can't even see and have to blink away the tears, something he doesn't like.

"Look at me baby, look at me." I force my eyes back open, trying so hard to do what he wants. "I. Will. Help. You." He drives the point into each word, making sure I can see how serious he is as he makes me this promise. "I will help you find your daughter. I will rip this world apart to find her for you. I owe you that much."

This time I shake my head, despite his hold on it. That makes him smile. But he shakes his head back. "You're forgiving me? God you're so sweet, I love that about you."If I could stop suffering inside for a second I might have chuckled at that, but all I can feel inside is dying. I know that I have to make this choice but it hurts so much.

"But Loki..." I stop myself, because as I say that name I can see him cringe and feel him shake. Closing his eyes he takes a deep breath between his teeth before forcing his eyes back to mine, trying to drive the hatred from them. "If he knows, I'll make him tell me. I swear to you, Nora, I'll make him tell me." _I can't even say it, not seeing how much he hates that name._ "But we can't stay here okay? We need to leave."

He doesn't even give me the chance to say what I want to, he sees it coming and beats me to it with an answer "I'm getting you out of here." that is in no way a request."I'm getting you out of here, I'm taking you somewhere safe. And when this is done, when S.H.I.E.L.D has the Cube back, I'll help you find your baby. But we gotta go, you gotta trust me now. Can you do that?"

I'm still crying, but I nod my head. "P-Pr-omise?" That brings a smirk to his lips before he nods and rests his forehead against mine. "Course I promise, how else am I gonna spoil my niece like a good uncle?" This time for a second there is a laugh mixed with my tears.

* * *

There you go, another Nora chapter. I hope you enjoyed it. Please tell me your opinions below, I love to hear them. Oh, also, now that Clint has made his return, what do you think? Are you happy? Am I doing a good job with him?


	41. Day 7: part 3

I really do get tired of writing disclaimers. It should be really obvious I don't own Marvel, but the one time that I don't write one they're going to send a posse to my door. (Though if they send the actors to do it that might not be so bad... Hmm... No! Still get sued! No!). So once again Marvel is not mine.

* * *

Shaking my head I try to get the ache out of my jaw. Even knowing how to take a hit that still hurt an awful lot when his fist connected with my face. I almost attacked back. She stopped me, her words. She was crying for her baby.

As much as I wanted to break his neck I couldn't. Seeing her like that was just startling enough to make me stop.

I don't know why either, cause if anything that should have made me want to hit him more. It didn't though, it made me want to stop so I didn't give her another reason to cry. I barely know this woman really, but all I want to do is make her smile, and make her safe. _What the hell's wrong with me?!_

I'm a trained SIS agent for god's sake. I'm not some novice who is new at their job. I know that the job is more important than the individual. I know this without a doubt. _But I just broke cover, and I did it mostly for her._

I can't figure out what makes this one so different, and I don't have the time to. It's almost a relief when I recognize the sound of those footsteps coming around the corner. It's them. The asshole, and _her_.

She looks better, and worse all at the same time. She isn't crying and screaming or trying to kill anything anymore, but she still looks pretty rough. I can see tears all over her cheeks, smudged with dust and dirt from someone's fingers trying to wipe them away. I'm going to assume it was him since there is no blood on her cheeks, but it's still all over her hands.

I'm also going to assume that he is the one who ruined her dress. It's been cut, the part that should have hung below her knees has been cut off. The material that was there is now wrapped around her feet in some sort of make shift footwear. It's a good idea, but I find myself hating it at the same time, because to do that he had to be really close and personal with her. She had to have let him, I heard no screams.

I think that's what really bothers me. That it's him. I saw her bleeding in his arms, I saw her blood on his skin! I heard her screaming when he was in that room with her, screaming for it to stop. I saw crying for HIM, even after all that bastard did to her, she cries to him, she goes to him for help.

_Not me_. I never hurt her, not once. I only raised my voice to her maybe a few times, but she still goes to him. I shouldn't care about this though, it has nothing to do with the task, whether she goes to him or me. But it's still driving me nuts and I hate it. _Bane of my existence, a beautiful woman in need_.

I like women, _I really do like women_. Size, shape, color, it doesn't matter to me, women are beautiful. If there is a god and he did something right, it was that. He made women beautiful.

Trained or not that is one thing that really hasn't changed about me. Whether I am attracted to them or not, I find all women worth looking at. The only thing the training did was make me more objective about it. Sometimes the job required me to be.

That's why it bugs me so much that I can't seem to do it with this one. _Dammit, you're not supposed to be attracted to the mission man, you know this_. It's that right there that is the truth of it. I like her, I really like her.

As stupid as it was for me to do, I became attracted to her, and it eats at me because she would rather have a guy who beat her bloody than me!

But I don't have time for this now. These feelings and wishes are better suited for after we escape and I don't have to worry about people shooting at us. That's where my focus needs to be, making sure I don't end up feeling bullets, or her. He is on his own though. I still don't like him.

Guiding her into the room with his arm around her side he steps away from her once they are both in the room, or at least he goes to. Her little hand on his sleeve stops him. She looks scared even at the thought of him moving a few feet away. He has to stop and reassure her that it's going to be okay, that he isn't leaving her. She lets him hug her.

I want to cringe watching it. It leaves a really foul taste in my mouth seeing her need him like that. I'm actually kind of glad when he gives me something else to focus on. His eyes meeting mine with a brief but hateful glare as he passes me, heading to the pile. _I hate you too asshole_.

But as much as I would love to find out who is the better man here I know we don't that time for that. So I shift my focus, however unwise that may be, back to her. She's shivering. I don't know if it's nerves, or the fact that the room we dropped into is at least ten degrees cooler, and she is in a _ruined_ dress with no sleeves.

"Miss?" My voice actually seems to startle her, which makes me feel rather terrible, but it soon isn't for the reason I thought. She had been hugging her arms to her chest and keeping her eyes on the floor up until I spoke, now those eyes are on mine and full of confusion. "D-Duncan?"

Her confusion confuses me too. She is acting like she doesn't recognize me, like I'm a different person suddenly. The only thing I changed was I dropped the accent. That shouldn't confuse her, not if she is an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. But truth be told, I don't think she is. Nothing I have seen from her suggests in any way she has training. She seems just like a girl, a scared, lost girl.

"Aye Lil Hen..." I switch back to the Scottish accent I had used around her before. "...it's me."

That seems to make her relax a little, not that I blame her. This whole situation is moving quickly now, if I was her, a normal everyday person, it would make me feel more comfortable too. Sometimes you just want something familiar when you're in the middle of chaos.

"Y-Your voice, it changed... You sound British now." _God she sounds so small now_. I don't like that look on her, it make want to protect her, more than I already do. _I don't know what you're doing sweetheart, but you do it damn well_.

"Yeah, it does that sometimes." I reply, chuckling a little at the adorable innocence she has, it's almost scary but impressive at the same time. It's like she is a child, but for a child she has held up damn well considering the situation she is in. "Don't worry about that. Here."

While I had been speaking I had also been busy removing my jacket for her. I'll be cold for a while, but I can live with that, she needs it more. Even if she thinks she doesn't.

I can see the argument in her eyes before it reaches her tongue, and I just shake my head. "Take it Lil Hen, it's rude to turn down gifts." That finally convinces her, even if she still doesn't really want to.

Her little hands take the warm piece of clothing from me and she quickly puts her arms into it, wrapping them back into the hugging of herself she had done before. I probably shouldn't be thinking it, but she looks good in my clothes.

The bastard's timing is wonderful when he speaks, drawing both of our attention. "Hey, James Bond. You wanna come over and give me a fucking hand here, or you still too busy hitting on my sister?!" And shockingly infuriating.

* * *

There you go. Now here is the part where I ask a question. I came across an interesting opinion, and I want to know if other people feel this way. One of my fans was actually happy Duncan got sucker punched by Clint, she doesn't know why but she just doesn't like Duncan.

So here's the question. Does anybody else not like Duncan? Or was glad to see Clint realign his jaw?


	42. Day 7: part 4

Yet another chapter and yet another disclaimer. I do not own Marvel. I do own Nora, Jareth, Duncan (the Perv, he really isn't loved by the ladies apparently), Modeus, and Kenna (who is still just a set of eyes).

* * *

_God...Nora has a kid. Nora has a KID!?_ I just can't get my head around that. I just promised her I would find her daughter. _I'm so screwed._ I promised her I would find her kid, but I don't know how I'm going to do that.

She's been awake for _three years_ and nobody knew about a kid. Let alone the sixty something years she wasn't awake, and who knows how long she has been here before that. We have pictures of her from WWII and she doesn't look any older, she doesn't seem to age so this kid could be anywhere. This kid might not even be alive, _and I promised her I'd find it!_

I'm still moving though because I can't stop, not for a second now. I have to keep moving so I can get us out of here and somewhere safe, but my thoughts are still stuck on that. Nora has a kid, a kid I _have_ to find.

"Hey, James Bond. You wanna come over and give me a fucking hand here, or you still too busy hitting on my sister?!" My thoughts are with him too, and those are equally unpleasant.

He looks shocked and a little pissed as he turns around to look at me, something I only catch out of the corner of my eye since I didn't even bother looking at him when I said that. I'm more concerned with arming myself at the moment.

Another clip for my Heckler gets shoved into one of my pockets. I may not prefer guns, but I can still use them, and to protect Nora I will use anything, whether I prefer it or not. _I really do wish this idiot got me a bow though._

As he comes up beside me I still don't look up, but snatch a silencer that will fit his Glock and deftly toss it over my shoulder at him. I am almost disappointed when I don't hear it hit him in the face. I move on from that quickly though, gathering up more supplies for the escape.

I can hear him screw it onto the end of his gun before he too is kneeling down next to the stockpile he put here secretly and gathering some more ammo for himself as well. It would improve my mood greatly if he just did it silently, instead he decides I want to hear him talk.

"That's your sister?! You look nothing alike." _Nora, Nora, you're putting up with this guy for Nora. Keep saying it Clint. For Nora._ As tempting as it would be to just let myself go and beat him into oblivion I can't do it. Nora is right there, and even if she wasn't I kind of need this fool. Getting Nora out will be a lot easier and likely more successful with two people instead of one. I may be good, but I not bullet-proof, and I'm not going to risk her safety because I'm overconfident. "She's adopted."

That's all I say, I don't even give him the time to reply to it. Shoving one last clip in my pocket I am standing back up and moving over to her again. I have two things in my hands, and whether she likes it or not she is taking them. A bullet proof vest and an extra pistol.

She doesn't like it, just like I knew she wouldn't. As soon as her mind caught up to her eyes she started shaking her head. "No, Clint. You wear it, you need it."

"Nora, sweetie, we don't have time to fight over this." I know she wants too, she wouldn't be her if she didn't. That's who Nora has always been, little miss concerned for others. _Hell, I nicknamed her 'Feather Pillow' once._ She always wanted to put others first, and it was adorable, but I can't let her do that now, I won't.

"I got one on baby..." _Sorry sweetie._ "Okay, I got mine already." I lie to her, something I really hate doing, but it needed to be done. "This one's yours. Let me help you put it on okay?" I ask with a grin, trying to make her feel as little discomfort about the situation as I can. "You'll mess it up if you do it."

She sees right through it, and I knew she would, but she lets me do it. She pouts a little as if I actually offended her, but I can see the weak amusement in her eyes and I can't help but be so proud of her.

She is being such a trooper. I am asking such a horrible, impossible thing of her, and she's doing it. She is doing it without complaint. I love and hate that about her. She can be so damn strong sometimes, but I know it's hurting her like hell and all I want to do is hold her and tell her to cry dammit, just cry.

I don't though. I don't because there isn't time.

"Okay Princess. Jacket off." I can almost feel the glare behind me trying to burn through my skull, and I don't give a damn. I can see the crush he has going on Nora, and I HATE it. If he wasn't useful he would have been gone already, but luckily for him he is.

I think it bugs him even more when she listens and does it herself. I'm trying really hard not to smirk about that, and I'm not sure I am succeeding, but again I don't care.

As she removes the piece of clothes I take it from her quickly, slinging it over my shoulder for the time being. I would rather just toss it on the floor but in a minute I am going to have to give it back to her. I don't like her in his clothes, but she needs it. It's really cold down here, and if I had a jacket to give her she'd be wearing mine. But I don't, that's why she isn't.

Quickly yanking open the Velcro on the side I lift it up into her view, silently waiting for her permission, and I don't have to wait long. I can tell this is making her nervous, and I don't blame her for one second. I'm so damn happy she isn't running screaming from me like she should be. To me it doesn't make any sense that she's not, but I'll take it.

Lifting it higher I drop it over her head and kneel for the next part. She moves too. As I kneel lower her arms go higher, moving out of the way so I can re-stick the Velcro of the vest. I make sure it's tight and secure on her. I'm not taking any chances. I check the damn thing three times.

_Okay, gotta stop wasting time, gotta keep moving Barton._ I get back up, forcing myself to stop my paranoid fidgeting. I could keep double checking things all day, but they'll still be just as good as they are now.

I could keep arguing with her all day too. As I rise back up from my crouch my hands are still busy with one my piece of Velcro. "Clint, no, I don't want it." I don't care, and I don't listen. I just continue sliding the Ruger into the holster on the vest. "Nora. You're taking this gun. No argument."

Her voice doesn't protest, but her eyes still do. "I know baby, you don't want to shoot anyone." I tell her as I quickly continue to secure the Velcro strap. "You won't have to okay? I'll be doing that for you."

That's another thing I have always liked about her. She knows what I do, what S.H.I.E.L.D has me do. She loves life, and hates suffering, and she knows what I do. She knows I've killed people, and she still cares about me. _God bless her, she even defends my name._

She nods, accepting it even as I can see the uneasiness in her eyes. I don't dwell on it or give her the chance to, I just keep moving things along. "Okay, good. That's my girl."

My eyes drift over my shoulder and back to him for just one second to make sure he is ready. His professionalism is back in place over his crush. _Thank god._ With that done my eyes return to hers.

"Okay, Nora honey?" I only say it like a question to make sure I have her attention. Her pretty ivy colored orbs meet mine and lock with them, all her focus on me. "We're going to be running baby girl. You need to keep up okay? All that bare-footing you've done finally has a purpose." The small joke makes her smile like I wanted it to.

Again she nods, making it clear she understands, just in case I couldn't see it. I smile back, this time taking a moment to pull her into a quick hug before releasing her and fixing her gaze again. "You run when I run." My pause is met by her nod. "You stop when I stop." Another pause and another nod.

"You close those pretty eyes and don't look at the wicked things I do." Her nod is heavy this time, and it comes with words. "I won't. I promise."

"I know you won't sweetie. I know you won't." I want to hug her again, but instead I just put that jacket back on her shoulders and give them a quick squeeze before I turn us both and guide her quickly to the door. "I'm getting you to that line. Come on."

* * *

So there is the latest installment. I hope you enjoyed it. Oh, and also for you anime fans I am posting a picture at the Photobucket of what I loosely based Duncan off of. If you recognize him you might find it is cute is I do how. If you don't you should look him up.


	43. Day 7: part 5

Okay, I feel obligated to inform you that even though DAY 7 already has 4 chapters in it, that everything is happening very quickly, and those 4 chapters only cover about a few minutes worth of time. There is going to be quite a few chapters in DAY 7, but it's going to be moving quickly, so if you weren't aware before you are now.

I still do not own Marvel. Nora, Jareth, Duncan, Modeus, and Kenna are mine.

* * *

At this door they fall into the same pattern as before. Clint takes up a position on one side of the door and guides me behind him to keep me safe, while 'Duncan' or James it seems to be now, takes up the spot on the other side.

When he gives Clint a nod saying he is ready, Clint turns the wheel on the door, being very careful to do it quietly, but still quickly. They count to three, each nodding very slightly down to one before Clint rips open the door and James moves into it, his weapon ready to take down anything that might be on the other side.

They've done this with three doors so far. I have prayed three times so far. _Please don't let them get hurt, please._

They are doing this for me. They could have just ran and gotten away on their own any time, but they are doing this for me. Clint is doing this for me, and I'm not sure how I feel about that.

I just know I shouldn't feel like I do.

I should be happy that I have these two risking their safety for mine, but I don't. I truthfully don't want them to. _I want to go back to 'him'._ I feel horrible for wanting that.

_A baby._ I have a baby, a beautiful baby girl. She is out there somewhere, without me. She has been out there for 3 years, maybe longer. _No, three years, that's it._ That's all I will let myself believe, if I could I would believe even less. I have been awake for three years so that is what I am counting it as, even if I know it is a lie.

After all S.H.I.E.L.D told me that I fell into my coma back in 2006. _S.H.I.E.L.D..._

That urge to hate them and suspect them is pushing back into my heart once more, burning and clawing at my chest like the jagged edges of a drill. It's driven away by his eyes. They make me feel even more like a traitor.

"Okay Nora, come on." Those eyes are like the sea to me. I always loved the sea. Now though it makes me ache. They only take a second looking at me before I can see the emotions in them shift to guilt and pity. He can see the misery in me even thought I'm trying to hide it. He is sorry. I wish he wasn't, but he will be, whether I wish it or not."Come on Kiddo, we need to keep moving okay?"

I force myself to do as he wants. I force myself to do the exact opposite of what I want. I want to go back to Loki, I want to go back to the man who has eyes that look like the ones in my head so I can get answers. I want to go back to a man who wants to destroy my friends. _Traitor, I'm a traitor._

I believe Clint, I believe that Loki will go after S.H.I.E.L.D. I believe it because it makes sense. I didn't really think about it before because I was too busy dealing with my own issues, but it makes sense. Clint was at the base, so was Erik. _They said the base fell._ I didn't believe it at the time, and I forgot about that afterwards in all the chaos.

Clint was at the base, Erik was at the base. The base fell. We're hiding somewhere. Loki has scientists here, and armed men. _It all makes sense._

Pulling my arms tighter around me as we continue to the next door I can feel the dull numb state of my nerves spike back into pain. The skin on my arms and hands suffered greatly from my destruction of the room. I squeeze my arms a little harder, making the pain even stronger.

I don't like pain, I don't like suffering. I'm not a masochist, or at least up till now I wasn't. I wanted to hurt, I want to feel pain in my flesh. It keeps me from thinking about the pain in my head, and in my heart.

"Nora..." I almost jump, his voice and the feel of a hand suddenly on my shoulder. It's Clint's eyes, and they look worried and sad. "Nora, stop. You're making yourself bleed."

That information startles me a little and my eyes go wide looking at his before they shift quickly over to my left arm, to find the olive-green material of the jacket I was allowed to wear turning a dark rusty-brown beneath my hands.

I want to hide suddenly, an urge born out of shame. It isn't because of what I have done with the jacket I was so kindly given, but because it was Clint who was the one who saw what I was doing, and he knows why. I can see it in his eyes.

He doesn't let me hide thought, his fingers resting on top of my head and sliding back with just enough force over my hair to encourage me to look up at him. "You can't do that sweetie..."

His words don't get much farther before another voice cut in, this one still disturbingly lacking in accent. "Is she alright?"

I can see Clint's expression darken at the first syllable from that voice and his eyes quickly shift over his shoulder to glare at him, getting a look of hatred back. They have been working together because they seem to have the same goal, but even I can tell if it weren't for that goal, they might be trying to kill each other. I don't want Clint to kill him though, Clint would win.

"She's fine, you mind backing off for five seconds!" He doesn't even wait for 'Duncan' to give him a response, his eyes turning swiftly back to mine and letting the fire drain from them. I however can see his response, or the beginning of one. He looks absolutely livid, and ready to rip into Clint with words. But then he looks at me, and gritting his teeth he swallows whatever hate filled words he had in mind, instead giving me a stiff but accepting smile.

Clint doesn't let my attention stay on the other man longer than that. His hand tightens just a bit over my hair, drawing my attention. "I know you're hurting, but you can't do that now kay?" I give him a small nod and smirk in reply because I know he is right, even if I would like him not to be. My quick acceptance just makes him smile."That's my girl"

I don't fight him when I feel him quickly tilt my head forward a little more than an inch, and his forehead rest lightly against mine. I don't fight the chuckle either at the end of his words. "I know I didn't have time to fix your arms up. We'll do that once were out okay? Then if you want I can give you something to make bleed, how do you feel about a Scottish pinata?"

* * *

I kinda feel bad making Duncan so under appreciated, lol, kinda. Anyways, yet another chapter for you boys and girls. Well, tell me what you think.


	44. Day 7: part 6

Once again I don't own Marvel, but the characters I have created are mine.

* * *

Another door is cleared much like before, but when I am allowed through it I very quickly realize this one is different. Instead of seeing another hallway I see a wall, and a ladder.

The room is square and concrete like the rest have been, but it is much smaller, and above our heads is a round white metal tunnel with a ladder bolted to the wall. At the very top of it is a hatch. _We're climbing next._

But that doesn't happen immediately. The first thing Clint does once I am in the room is to push me away from the door as far as he can.

It confuses me a little at first, at least until I notice what Duncan or James is doing. Closing the door he pulls out what looks like white plastic and begins pressing the cord into the seam of the door. I've never seen this thing before, but I have a suspicion about what its purpose is. It is soon proven right.

Once he gets it in place he returns back to one end of the cording and grabs a small tab stinking out of it. Yanking it off he reveals several segments of darker lines within the white, segments that after about five seconds of being exposed begin to glow. They glow so brightly that looking at them actually hurts my eyes. _It's welding the door shut._

It is Clint's hands turning my face away that saves my vision from being burned with lines. "No starring at the highly volatile chemicals Kay Hun? You need to not be blind for this part."

I smirk a little, yet again amused by his joking manner even in this situation. I know why he is doing it, and I appreciate it. He is trying to distract me from the thoughts in my head. He is trying to help keep the pain away.

The moment doesn't last long, the appearance of my other rescuer breaking into it, and darkening Clint's expression a little once again. The hostility between them is actually beginning to worry me a little. I can tell that Clint doesn't like the attention he has given me, but there is something else going on too that I can't really put my finger on, I just know that it's darker.

"Okay Lil Hen..." He says, speaking only to me and making a point to not even look at Clint as he moves the small distance over to us. "Time to start climbing, up you g..."

"You first." Clint's voice isn't sharp, it's actually rather calm. Yet even without needing to raise his voice for those words I can feel the heavy angry weight of them.

The dark look is back in his eyes again. "She is in a skirt." It's in 'Duncan's' eyes too.

"What's your problem?! You think I'M going to hurt her! You think you're doing her some kind of favor 'protecting' her from ME?! I'm not the one who...!"

This time it is my voice that stops them, my yell, which has nothing to do with fear or pain, it's just angry. "JAMES STOP IT!"

My voice, and my body between the two of them. I don't even consciously recall doing it, but I'm standing between them, their eyes still looking past me to each others with murder in them, but their bodies deceptively still.

It's Clint who breaks the standoff first. His eyes closing tightly before the hand that had been wrapped white knuckled around his knife shoves it back into the sheath. He doesn't even open his eyes as I suddenly find myself pulled into a hug.

"Shh..." The first touch of his has me trying to push him away, a reaction borne out of nervous adrenaline more than anything, and as quickly stopped. "Shh..." This time his hush is softer and his hands run over my back trying to soothe the trembling he can feel in my muscles away. "It's okay, I'm sorry. It's okay."

I still don't trust myself with words, not after yelling like I did, but I don't need them, not with Clint. He feels the tiny nod I give him past my shaking and the feel of his arms hugging me a little tighter is how he lets me know in return. "You have ten seconds, that's all I can give you."

Again I give him another silent nod, letting him know I understand. But after counting down from ten to eight trying to calm down I am given another reason to stiffen up. I can hear 'James' speak.

"After?" It's only one word and it's directed at Clint, but it doesn't need to be more than one word to make the real meaning known. It's an agreement. 'We hate each other, but will deal with that after'. In second seven I am able to start relaxing again, this time it's Clint's voice. "After."

* * *

I tried to find something in real life that could do this, and I am sure there is something, but this time Google failed me. Anyways the plastic cording is something like this. It is made with two compounds, they are harmless until the inner one is exposed to oxygen, and that triggers a chemical reaction which makes the cording liquefy and reach VERY hot temperatures that melt through whatever it is on. But it also burns up really quickly and afterwards the surface it leaves behind cools quickly.

Well, anyways, leave a review please and tell me what you think.


	45. Day 7: part 7

Once again I find myself in a cycle of boring repetition. I still do not own Marvel, but Nora, Jareth, 'Duncan', Modeus, and Kenna are mine.

* * *

I really need to stop trying to kill him, _he needs to really stop giving me reasons!_ I have to keep telling myself to stay calm almost constantly now. I can't let myself lose my cool just because I think this guy is an asshole.

_I almost did 'THAT' right in front of Nora. God. Dammit._

I swore I wouldn't let her see things like that, and I almost put a knife in him right in front of her. A knife, not a bullet.

I didn't bother using the gun I had in my hand on him because that would have been too quick. I wanted to drag it out and draw every single scream and groan I could get from him. I wanted to fillet his flesh right off his broken bones for saying that. _Almost saying that._

_He almost called me a killer, her killer._ That made me snap, my vision knowing no other color besides red. I know what I did to her, I felt it, I saw it, _I even tasted it_, that 'thing' made me lick her blood off my hands. I wanted to murder him for reminding me of that truth, that I was less worthy to protect her than he was.

I almost did that right in front of her, I almost showed her what a monster I can really be. She stopped me, she should have never had to do that. I should have never let myself lose that much control.

Gritting my teeth I shake those thoughts away as best as I can, shifting my focus instead to the placement of my hands and feet as I follow her up the ladder, my eyes making sure that they never drift higher than her ankles. The memory of that 'thing's' fantasies making me want to be sick. _That wasn't you Barton, 'it' wasn't you._

When he reaches the top he gets out first, making her wait before he is sure it is clear, then motioning us both out of the pipe.

_Don't Barton, be calm._ When she reaches the top he helps her out of the hole, giving her one of his gloved hands like a gentleman. _You can kick his ass later, you don't have time now._

The urge to beat something though becomes a little less however when I hear Nora's voice speak, triggering a small conversation between the two.

"Thank you James."

"Lil Hen, that's not my name."

"But I thought? ... Didn't Clint call you James Bond?"

One thing I have always liked about Nora is how little she knows about the world. I don't mean that in a cruel way, but her innocence about things has always been adorable to me. Like when I introduced her to ice-cream, or in this case how she has no idea who James Bond is.

Helping my own self out of the door in the floor I do my best not to smirk as I insert my own comments "Pop culture reference kiddo." and get a small "Oh." from her.

That not smirking thing is even harder when I see the confused shock on his face. "She's never heard of James Bond?!"

_Don't laugh Clint, you're gonna piss Nora off if you laugh._ Still looking at the trap door as I lock it I dead pan the response I give him. "Nora is a long story, with very few chapters." _Or piss her off more._

Rising back up from my position kneeling over the trap door I can see the irritation written in her eyes at my comment. I make it go away as quickly as I can.

Walking back over to her I check to make sure everything important is still attached to her securely, like the gun and the straps of her vest. While doing so I look her right in the eye, keeping my voice low to keep it between us. "Just means you can write a good story, right?"

That drives her annoyance with me, and earns me a soft "Yeah" Spoke with a smirk at the end, even if it reaches her eyes. Thankfully her curiosity fills them next instead of her sorrow.

Looking around the room she is taking in all the strange, or strange to her, equipment. It's soundboards and lighting controls and a bunch of other things that make a theater work like it should. "Clint? Where are we?"

Looking down for a second to readjust one of the straps I look back up at her with a grin. "Well, you might find this kinda funny. We're in the Palladium."

* * *

Yes Iron Man fans, the Palladium is an actual place. I picked a random state outside of the ones I earlier mentioned S.H.I.E.L.D had cleared, and a random city about in the middle of it and started looking for a building I could use, I found THAT and after blinking profusely and laughing loud enough to make my roommates think I'm insane I decided to use it. Cause lets be honest, why wouldn't I use that. Next chapter will include a little more about it.

You know the drill.


	46. Day 7: part 8

One more chapter done for you readers. This one is a small one though. Marvel is still not mine, Nora, Jareth, Duncan, Modeus, and Kenna are.

* * *

"Small history lesson for you..." Clint begins, seeing the questions in my eyes and answering them before I ask to save time. "The Palladium, a center of performing arts located in Carmel, Indiana. The plane ran out of gas, yes, there was a plane. It also houses a smaller theater called the TARKington..." His voice trails off for a second as he finishes checking the strap over my gun. "...add an 'S', Pepper invests in the Arts and has a sense of humor." Then he continues, now satisfied I am ready he checks himself over one last time. "It cost in the ballpark of 170 million to complete, mostly because it was built by, add a 'D', SHIEL Sexton Construction Co."

Then having finished his check his eyes are back on mine, and seeing my expression he lets out a small chuckle. "I agree, the removing of 'A' letter is kinda lame. I didn't name them, moving on." Then all the humor leaves his expression.

"Now this is the part where you really need to keep up okay?" He says it like a question, but he doesn't even give me a chance to answer. "In the tunnel we were okay, but there's gonna be people out there, they're gonna have guns." This time his eyes meet mine and his hand rests on my shoulder, making sure I really hear these words and see how important this is. "We need to stay away from them." I understand that, but Duncan doesn't.

"We're avoiding YOUR people?!" His voice brings that look back to Clint's eyes, but it fades as my hand wraps around his sleeve. He doesn't say anything to me, just pulls me into a quick hug, knowing what he is going to say next is probably going to upset me some.

"These aren't my people. There are cops in those tunnels." I don't hear it so much as feel the annoyed sigh leave his chest at those words. "S.H.I.E.L.D would never send in the cops, it's like throwing a puppy to a bear."

"Then S.H.I.E.L.D isn't coming?" This time Duncan's voice is calmer, having a note of resigned acceptance in it as I hear what sounds like another clip slide into the hilt of a gun. Clint's voice takes a second to respond, his arms squeezing me just a little tighter while I rest my head against his clothes. "Oh they're coming alright, but they're coming for me and when they come the safety's off."

I'm not even given a chance to express how much that knowledge bothers me. Clint's voice is already in my ear. "Don't worry Nora, no one is going to get me, or you. Once were safe I'll get in touch with Fury and everything will be okay, but we can't let S.H.I.E.L.D get us now okay?" My response is a wavering smile and a sharp nod. His is a "Good girl."

I can tell he wants to try and make me feel better still but the knowledge that our time is limited stops him, and he shifts his actions to the task. Letting me go he guides me to the safe area behind him and gets ready to go. Looking over at Duncan he asks in a clipped, yet snarky tone "So you ready yet 007?" but instead of getting upset Duncan, even with the frown on his features smirks a little as he moves into position at the door. "That's not my number, besides, I'm much cooler than he is."

* * *

You want to know the awesome thing about the Palladium, I didn't make up any of that. It really does have a theater named the Tarkington, it really was built by Shiel Sexton Construction Co. It really did cost over $170 mil to build. They pretty much made this thing to be in a Marvel story, sweet Jesus on rye! You don't believe me look it up. The Palladium at the Center for Performing Arts at Wikipedia.

I know this chapter was real short, but I stop when a good point to stop shows up, don't worry though, I'm already working on the next.


	47. Day 7: part 9

One more chapter down. I hope you like it. Marvel is still not mine. Nora, Jareth, Duncan, Modeus, and Kenna are. Read on.

* * *

"What the hell do you mean 'MOVED IN' already!? What idiot gave that order?" Gritting my teeth I run my hand over a head lacking immensely in hair before I hear the beginnings of words on the other end."Does it sound like I need an answer!" I don't even care anymore, the call ended before I whirl around and try to salvage this situation."HILL!"

Of course, I know what idiots did this, it has the stench of the Council practically dripping off it. _What part of a highly trained government assassin is so hard to understand? _Barton is going to turn the entire CPD into nothing more than pin cushions before they even get close enough to take them down. And that's not even the worst of it.

"Sir." My yelling as usual doesn't have her missing a beat, her eyes leaving her screen to look at mine. "There are four army reserve units in the area and they have been notified, two have already sent in tactical forces. Our own forces in the area are still twenty-minutes out."

The worst of it is Loki, and his party trick. They sent in an entire police force after a 'man' who only needs to touch someone with that thing to turn them into his puppets.

"Get that picture out there, I want everyone right down to the crossing guards to know that they CAN NOT let Loki touch them. Hostile force is not only authorized, it's encouraged!" She gave me another yes sir and returned back to her station, her hands moving quickly over the screen as she fills in the blanks and gets the job done.

"Sitwell?" Is the next name out of my mouth, and just like Hill I don't need to waste words to get the answers I want."Still no sign of the cube sir. We have our satellites focusing on the area. The signal from the MI-6 agent is still strong, and it is now mobile."

_Of course it is._ A bunch of cops just crashed his party, what else would the spy be doing besides moving. They don't know he isn't a mercenary, they have orders to shoot the people in that damn bunker.

"Have you locked down the building yet?" His answer is frustration. "Not yet sir, Barton must have set up a firewall to keep us out of the system, we are working on it."

Again, of course he would. Barton would have made sure we couldn't detect their presence there and gotten someone to break into the system. If he hadn't the security system would have sent us an alert that the facility was being used without authorization. It wouldn't have been hard either, since the facility still wasn't finished and had yet to be put in use.

"Get it done, I want those blast doors closed and the place gassed." I beat the question I see coming to the punch. "And yes I know there are cops in there, just do it. We need to contain this. NOW." He gives me another nod and lets his attention drift back to the tasks I have given him.

"Coulson." Yet another name and yet another person who doesn't need unnecessary words. "We found Natasha sir, she is in Komsomolsk-on-Amur." He doesn't ask it but the question is there in his eye's anyways. "I don't care if you tap every phone in Russia, get her on the line!"

* * *

And in a string of short chapters, this one was really REALLY short. Hmm, so I'm gonna try not to do that again. Sorry. Anyways, please leave a review.


	48. Day 7: part 10

One more chapter done, and once again I still do not own Marvel. Nora, Jareth, Duncan, Modeus, and Kenna are mine.

* * *

My eyes meet her shape again, and I make myself drive away the thoughts looking at her inspires. _What are you doing Clint, you don't have time for doubt now._ You need to get her out of here, and you will. That's all I need to focus on, just that. Not the man with us, or the amount I may have to take down, or even the fiery headache I have going on in my skull. Just that.

Shaking my head I fail at completely removing my attention from what feels like a red-hot porcupine took up residence in my brain. Then seeing her brow furrow in a moment of concern I force a quick smile to reassure her that I'm fine.

I don't have time to worry about a headache, I'm too busy kicking myself to death.

Our run down the tunnel and out of the theater was delightfully uneventful because that section of the bunker they broke in at was mostly a straight line, so they couldn't sneak around to cut us off, and they weren't expecting anyone to cut through a floor to escape, let alone into a theater. That was rather uneventful too, despite the fact I knew I was racing against the clock to them getting back those doors.

Despite the seriousness of the situation though seeing her amazement at how grand the building was made me want to laugh a little. I forgot she had never been to a theater before. When this is over I'm taking her to one, just so I can see that look again.

But now we are outside, we cleared the stage, the aisles, the stairs, the lobby and we're outside and I want to stomp my head into the earth so hard it turns to jelly because even if we hug the building and take advantage of the fact it's one in the morning on a Thursday we still have at least 100 ft of open ground until the next building.

And that's not even the five or some miles as things fly to our real destination.

_If I never come back to this city in my life I'll be very happy._ I can't seem to get out of 'Carmel Indiana' fast enough, and really, who names their city after something that causes tooth decay anyway?

Now sure that it is clear in my direction I turn back to her. She doesn't need to say it, but she can't hide it either. She's scared, like any sane person would be. She knows what's going on, what the risks are.

She may not know exactly what happened at the base, but she's smart and she can guess. I wasn't me, and I helped steal something REALLY important. She knows the very first thing S.H.I.E.L.D would have done after beginning to look for the cube is looking for me, for us. S.H.I.E.L.D doesn't know I'm off the strings now, they'll still be operating under the assumption that I'm brainwashed, and that anyone with me is the enemy.

"Nora." My voice is very soft, and I only say her name, I let the tone of it do the rest. She nods, she knows what I mean, she knows what I want to tell her. She trusts me to do that, to keep her safe. I love that she can do that, and feel ashamed about it as well. That's another thing I need to shake off.

My eyes meet his next, and he nods, the motion quick and sharp and without hesitation just like I need it to be. _Just like I need to be._

Keeping us near the wall and taking advantage of the shadows cast by the pillars I check to make sure that it is clear, and find myself hating this building a little more. _It is nothing but a massive amount of corners!_ But at least this one is clear.

Hopping down I quickly tuck my gun in my vest before I turn back to her and hold out both my hands, letting the spy cover us. She hesitates, but not even for a full second, then lets me help her. While my gloved hands are holding onto her legs hers are resting against my shoulder to steady herself. She once again proves how strong she can be and makes me proud. I can feel her muscles shivering from more than cold, but she doesn't make a sound or complain.

He follows soon after, taking care just like I did to keep the sound of his feet hitting the ground as quiet as possible.

Now comes the really fun part. "You ready Nora?" It is technically a rhetorical question, but she graces me with an answer anyway, her head nodding softly and a tiny"Yeah" Leaving her. If I had time I would like to make her nervousness go away, I would do everything and anything to make her forget about the horrible things 'I' did to her. But again, there isn't enough time, there may never be enough time.

"Say it with me." Even without looking up at him I can still see his brow furrow a little when I take a few more seconds with her, but my attention isn't for him and neither are my words. "What are Nat's words?" Her voice right in time with mine even though hers is small and wavering. "It's all about the finish line."

"Okay, that's right, it's all about the line." I let my body turn a little and extend my hand out, my fingers pointing to guide her vision. "You see that building?" I don't wait for an answer because I know she does. "That's the line. Stay by me, run like hell, that's all you gotta do. Don't stop, I'll be right there with you, you'll be safe okay? You understand?" That fun part I mention, it's the next 100 ft of lit flat ground.

"Good. Now run." _God, please, just let me get her out of here._

* * *

Made this one a little longer, I am now setting myself a minimum word count since the last couple chapters just kept getting shorter and shorter and I didn't mean them to. Well, you know the drill, tell me what you think. Opinions, comments, whatever. I'm not picky.


	49. Day 7: part 11

Alright, I'll say it right up front. This is the first story I've posted, and I've mentioned before that I have never been taught how to write, so if my pacing is too slow I apologize, I will try to fix that. I am learning as I go what readers prefers, so please bear with me. Now with that said, Marvel is not mine, Nora, Jareth, Duncan, Modeus and Kenna are.

* * *

We cleared the distance, but she kept clearing it. I had to catch her to make her stop, she would have just kept running if I didn't. Catching her by the waist I can feel her sharp intake of breath and know what it proceeds. Before she can use that air to make any noise my other hand settles quickly over her mouth. "Shh..." I can feel her heart pounding so hard it is covering the shivering I am sure is in her muscles. "Shshshshsh, it's okay, you're okay. Breathe."

Seeing a little bit of the fear leave her eyes and the sense return I carefully remove the hand touching her face. Gloved or not a touch is a touch, and if I can I want to keep them as few as possible. Touching her skin is a privilege, not a right, and I don't think I qualify, not anymore.

"You did great Hun" I say with a smirk as I feel her calm down a little more, her heart still racing though. "But you have to stop. When. I. Stop. Okay?" I make each word a sentence of its own, driving home the point. Her response is quick and sharp, her head bobbing so fast it reminds me a little of a humming-bird. It's unnecessary too. "Sorry." Mine is serious. "You, have nothing to apologize for."

But that's all the time I let us rest. I have a clock going in my head, and it isn't stopping for anything.

"Hug the wall sweetie, it's your new best friend Kay?" As soon as I see the understanding my eyes are on him, and he nods too. I'm actually enjoying this quiet professional version of 'Duncan', it makes me want to not kill him quite as much, which is good, since for the time being I still need him.

We're behind some sort of mini mall or shopping center. Lots of windowless doors and protruding cement beams and dumpster's. It isn't the best cover I could ask for, especially considering it is also lit up, but it casts some shadows and those will have to do.

I move first, trusting her to follow me, and him. I don't exactly like letting him be at my back since I don't exactly like him period. But I put him there this time because he doesn't know where we are going, not that it is really that complicated though. We can't walk forever after all. Ahead of us is a little more of the downtown, then it is houses, and a golf course, some more house, ANOTHER golf course, a nature preserve, a few more houses and finally an airport.

It's a tiny airport so it has tiny planes, but a little two seater plane is better than no plane any-day.

That presents a problem or two of its own though. _Where am I gonna ditch this guy, and how am I gonna get Nora to let me do it?_ She is not going to like the idea and will fight me on it, I already know that. _Nora is a feather pillow._ Nora isn't the kind of person to make or accept a decision like that, leaving someone behind. I'm going to have to force her, to take away every option but acceptance. _I am so not looking forward to that part._

Can't think about that now though. We're at the end of the building. We have more ground to cross. This time it's a road. Four lanes total going two ways with cars. Even on a Thursday in the middle of the night in a small city there are still cars. More importantly, there are headlights, and unless these people are blind and stupid, they will take one look at us and haul us in. _Two armed men and a woman in torn clothes and bleeding, of course they will, what else would they do?_

But we have to cross, and we have to do it now. I can see Humvee's on the highway about 400 feet to our left. The army is here, and there at least five minutes earlier than I hoped they would be.

That's good and bad. It's bad for us obviously since I was hoping to be farther away at this point, but it's good too. It means Loki, _I really hate that name_, has had less time as well. Though with the contingency plan I set up for him the bastard might actually get away from us again. But when this is over, I won't let him do it for a third time.

But as much as I would enjoy thinking about all the horrible things I could inflict on Loki to make him talk, and I do, I still know it isn't going to happen for a while.

Waiting for the traffic to thin a little bit more I see an opening and take it, again trusting Nora to follow me. She doesn't disappoint me, her form still visible out of the corner of my eye.

She is doing great, so much so I am impressed. I know she is cold, scared, and in pain, but she isn't saying it. Her arms and hands must feel like they're on fire, torn up and filled with slivers like they are, I bet the jacket isn't helping either, it's sticking to her bloody skin. Her feet are probably hurting her too. Even if she spent a lot of time barefoot, we've been running over rubble and concrete and god knows what else.

Then there's the fact she doesn't even want to be out here with us. She wants to go back to him. I have to remind myself again to stay calm when that thought enters my head. I know her reason, and it's a good reason, she thinks he knows where her kid is. Yet, even knowing that, I just can't understand it. _How is he a better choice than me?_

I know the answer to that though. _He didn't try to kill her._ He just made me do that instead. _I need to stop thinking so much._ Especially since that last car visibly slowed down a little, no doubt because they aren't blind and stupid.

Clearing the road I am already looking for something we can use, and coming up disappointed. I only see another reason to complain about cars, this time because of the lack of them. There isn't a single car in either of the parking lots on our side.

That's okay though because we will be hitting the residential area next, and I'm sure to find a car there in one of the driveways. Once we have some wheels this trip while be a lot faster and safer. I won't have to worry so much about some concerned citizen calling us in.

Keeping us moving my eyes never stop searching for what we need. A house with no lights on inside and most importantly a car in the driveway. It takes me to the end of the block to find one, which almost takes me to the end of my patience too.

This one is perfect though, and worth it. A gray sedan parked in a small wrap around driveway with a fence to block the gaze of onlookers a little, and in the little brick house beyond there isn't so much as a flicker of light in those windows. I almost couldn't ask for something better than this.

Turing to the little group I am leading I slow us down. We don't want the owners of said car to wake up, mostly because I don't want to have to waste the time to put them back to sleep. Even if I didn't have to kill them it is not a process Nora would enjoy watching.

Once again his professionalism is useful. I don't even have to tell him to do a quick check of the property to make sure there aren't any surprises. While he is busy doing that I tend to her.

Moving her over to the fence I encourage her to sit, which she doesn't argue with. Her body practically collapses into the position, making me feel horrible just watching it. She looks like an absolute mess. Exhaustion has now been added to the list of injured, scared, confused, cold, and sad.

"Hey Princess..." I pause only long enough to ruffle her hair just a little. "You did great, I know you're tired, but hey, we're almost there. You can relax now, okay? We'll have this car ready in a second." Through all of that she just nods and tries to smile for me, like I'm the one that needs to be reassured. That proud feeling is back."That's the brave girl I know." I give her shoulder a quick squeeze instead of the hug I want to give her before I get back up.

Moving quickly over to the car I get right down to work. My not so story book adolescence serving a better purpose now than it ever did back then. I clear three wheel wells before I start on the fourth only to pause at the feel of a familiar presence behind me and the sight of a hand outstretched to me, with what looks like a credit card with a very thin draw and metal instruments in it. _And he gets offended when I call him 'Bond', really?!_

"Or..." I say rolling my eyes and turning back to him with my own lock picking set in hand. "...we could just use this." Moving the object I am holding in the light I present to him none other than a hide-a-key. I may work for S.H.I.E.L.D but not everything has to be a super gadget, sometimes the old fashion ways work just as well.

I don't need the light or the time to look to know I've offended him a bit with that, but I really don't care. As soon as I have Nora somewhere safe I am ditching him anyway. I am going to have to run with her for a little bit, and I can't risk him somehow giving our location away. He already did that once back there.

I don't need him to tell me how those cops ended up in that tunnel. He either sent the location to someone or has a tracker in him somewhere, it's likely both. Now I would be more than happy to just cut the damn thing out of him but somehow I just don't see that going over very well.

Getting back to work I open the door and the first thing I do after is turn off the interior lights, I don't need to risk anyone seeing those. The second thing I do is release the parking brake, that is for a specific reason. Pulling my head back out of the doorway then I meet his eyes. "Help me push." I want this thing as far out of the driveway as we can and all of us in it before we turn it on. Once we do that we might wake up its owner, and I want to be gone before they have a chance to clear the front door.

He nods, understanding, and tucks away his gun in his vest like I did mine then puts both hands on the trunk and applies force. While he makes it move I make sure it goes where it should, steering it so it stays on the driveway and doesn't go through the fence or into a tree.

It doesn't take us long to finish that task, the wheels rolling over the gravel rather quietly, even if they sound much louder due to my caution. Once it is done though, my attention is back on her.

Hurrying over to the shadow I know is her I find her huddled up next to the fence, doing her best to stay warm. But then my ears realize there is more to it than just cold. I can hear her sniffling softly as she tries to hide the fact she is crying.

"Nora...?" My concerned tone brings her voice out, small though it is. "I'm okay." But the quick way she said it takes away all credibility. I pretend it didn't.

"Course you are..." I don't think she can see my smirk as my face is in the shadows, but she can hear it. "You're a regular trooper after all." Her small hiccupped chuckle lets me know that. "Now come on sweetie, let's get you in that car and warmed up."

It isn't really a request, but she treats it like one, nodding her consent and uncurling her hands from her legs to let me help her up. I pretend again that I don't notice the way she stiffens and winces a little from the weight of my touch on her sleeve. I pretend it doesn't bother me.

I guide her quickly to the car and toward the back seat. I would prefer her sitting next to me rather than him, but I put her in the back anyway. She is getting the whole seat to herself. I know she is exhausted, mentally and physically. I'm giving her a chance to rest a little, even if it is just until we get to the airport.

Opening the door for her I make sure she is all the way inside before I shut the door again and return to my side of the car. The spy has already taken his place in the front seat, one warning glare and a head shake being enough from me to discourage him from even thinking about the back.

Getting the key ready I put myself in a seat, but as my door closes my ears pick up something they shouldn't My door closing sounded like two. Her seat is empty. _Shit! Nora no!_

Now both of us are moving, the doors open and all concerns about silence gone. I don't know or care what he is thinking but I have to catch her. The keys never left the ignition, and orders to him are really clear. "The car! Get the car!" I don't even stop to see if he hears me. I'm heading through the trees in the direction I think she ran, trying to figure out why.

* * *

I am trying to make the pace a little quicker, I hope I am succeeding. The next chapter will be another Nora POV, but don't worry, there will be more from Clint's point of view, I promise. Please leave a review.


	50. Day 7: part 12

Here is the Nora chapter. Once again I do not have the pleasure of owning Marvel. Nora, Jareth, Duncan, Modeus, and Kenna are mine.

* * *

_I can't._ I tried, I tried so hard, but I just can't do it. I can't leave. _I'm so sorry Clint, I'm so sorry._

I went with him because I knew he was right, S.H.I.E.L.D needs to be warned. I knew that and understood it, I accepted that. I knew one other thing right away too, I knew it even before. Clint needed to escape, but he would not do it without me. He wouldn't leave me here.

So I went with him, I did it because I care about him, even if he makes me shudder now. I kept telling myself _it's my Clint, that other one wasn't him, it just looked like him. He won't hurt me, he's my friend, my brother, my protector. He won't leave me. He won't hurt me. He won't hurt me._ It helped. But I still couldn't completely forget the way his hands bruised, broke and crushed me.

My Clint. He was calling me princess. That hurt so bad, it made it so hard not to cry. _He only ever used that one when he was really worried about me._ I don't know if he even noticed that either, but I was only ever 'Princess' when he was scared for me. He was worried about me, and I left him back there.

_I had too._ I tried so hard, I really did. But then sitting by that fence, my hands found something in the grass. I don't think Clint noticed it, in fact I know he didn't. I never would have gotten away if he did. I knew once I felt that, I knew what decision I was going to make and I cried because of it. The small toy figurine is still clenched in my hand.

My baby. I have to get back to Loki. I have to know where my baby is.

_Clint's safe, he's safe now._ I keep telling myself that as my feet ignore the abusive of pebbles and twigs when I cut through someone's yard. _Clint can get away now, Clint can get to S.H.I.E.L.D. He'll be safe._

That's my logic. I'm sure Clint will chase me, he'll look for me for a little while. But in the end he'll run, and he may hate me for this, but he'll leave me. The threat of the soldiers and the agents in the area will make him leave me. _God Clint I'm so sorry. I told you to leave me. I'm sorry._

I didn't see the branch that cut at my cheek, but I felt it. I felt the skin break and the flesh burn from the salt of my tears. I'm sobbing, and I can't stop. If I stop he will find me.

I knew the second I opened that door if I stopped for a moment, if I hesitated even I second Clint would catch me and I couldn't let him do it.

I waited, I timed it and planned it. I knew I wouldn't get a second chance. I didn't act until I heard Clint's door close, until they were both in the car before I threw open the door and ran. It was the only edge I could give myself, that second or two it took them to get out of the car.

I don't know how I succeeded. Truthfully I knew it was more likely that he would catch me before I made it to the trees and drag me kicking and screaming back to the car. I actually made it to them though, I actually made it passed them.

It's a parking lot again, but this is a different one. The other ones we passed belonged to a hardware store and what looked like a small office of some kind. This one a pizza place. But I don't waste time figuring out what one. I'm only concerned with getting back to where I came from.

It isn't the smartest plan, I know this. Not only is running from Clint a stupid idea, but the almost straight path back I am taking is as well. I should be trying to weave and cut around on a different way, but I don't have time. I just need to get back to Loki, to the man who knows where my baby is.

I don't even know if I will find him. Clint took us out from a level beneath the floor, and he even welded the door closed behind us. Plus I heard gunfire in those tunnels. Loki may not even be there anymore. _No, he has to be! I need him to be!_

It's not eyes I can see in my head anymore. It's tiny fingernails on little hands, and little feet. It's chubby cheeks and a toothy smile. It's laughter. It's a full head of wispy brown waves. It's a little button of a nose. She is beautiful and happy, and I can see so much of myself in her gorgeous little face.

I will do anything to find my baby, anything. Even things that break my heart, like running away from a man who treats me like his sister and only wants to make sure I am safe. Like going back to a man who is now the enemy of my friends. I'm still saying I am sorry in my head, but it's pointless despite the truth of it because I am still doing the very thing I am apologizing for.

My feet are carrying me toward the street we crossed again. I know I should find a different way, that it is too open and exposed. But I don't. Even Clint took us this way, because he too thought there was no time to find a different route.

They are about to carry me across it, not considering even stopping for the cars. Only these aren't cars. These are transports.

The second my mind registers that, and my eyes see the surprised eyes of the men riding in them my feet are turning me.

The shift happens so quickly my body can't adapt to the change in momentum. My feet slid out from under me on the grass of the terrace, sending me toppling backwards.

I'm still moving though, my hands and feet scrambling to get back up as I hear their tires skid to a stop and them shouting at me to stop. I don't listen, I just keep going, trying to escape yet another thing that would prevent me from my goal.

* * *

Well there it is, Nora's reasoning and some of the results of that. More will be revealed in the next chapter. I hope you liked it, please leave a review.


	51. Day 7: part 13

One more chapter done, again Marvel's not mine. Nora, the kitties, Duncan, and Kenna are.

* * *

Being tackled hurt before, but this hurt more. I can feel my body hit the cement parking lot and continue to move across it from momentum alone, the small pieces of rock scraping and tearing at the skin they touch, creating damage of its own and making the previous injuries even worse.

I don't even care about that though, just like I don't care about the stars in my vision or the desperate need in my chest for air as the bulk of the gun drives into my ribs. I only care about clawing through his skin, I only care about getting this soldier off me, I only care about getting away.

He is having a hard time hanging on to me. He made the mistake of grabbing on to my arms, and now his hands are slippery with my blood, making it difficult for him to get a grip on my sweaty skin or my silk dress.

Difficult but not impossible.

As his grip on my waist starts to fail from my struggling he switches to a hold on my ankle instead, sending my scrambling form back down into the concrete as he removes the progress I made. Then he let go.

I don't know how I did it and I don't care. I felt my heel connect with the side of his jaw and it made his grip loosen just enough that I got my foot back.

I'm running again, and this time I'm screaming, I don't care that they can hear me, I'm hoping 'he' can. "LOKI! CLIN-NGH!" I don't even finish getting the second name out.

This time the person who catches me doesn't tackle me, a hand catches me by the back of my vest and then gravity is pulling me back to the ground with any words I might have used reduced to a choking gasp.

He fills my silence with yelling words of his own too. "GET HER HANDS! SHE HAS A GUN!" I didn't even think to use it, I didn't even remember it was there. They don't give me that chance.

Two of them appear in front of me. The one on the left doesn't try to grab my hands, he just makes sure they don't reach for the weapon as I try to fight them off and then his own hand, balled into a fist is driven into my stomach.

Crying out in pain my muscles slacken just long enough to let them rip the weapon from me. I can hear it skittering across the parking lot as they toss it out of my reach. Then their hands are back, and so is my ability to fight back.

It doesn't do me any good though, their hold on me is now too secure and even my determination isn't enough to overpower their strength.

One on each arm they pull me to my feet, my struggling and protesting accomplishing nothing. Even digging my heels into the ground does nothing to help me, it only scrapes the skin off the bottom of my feet.

I am seeing stars again as they drag me over to the Humvee, slamming me down against it and pinning me there, my head hitting the metal hood and bouncing from the force.

I can feel the skin over my cheek bone split from the force and the slow spread of hot blood against the even hotter metal. But as the ringing in my ears clears alongside the star's I find less and less concern with that because of what I hear. "Get me that poster. I think it's her."

___No, no, no, no, no, no!_ My thoughts are nothing more than panic. I can't get caught, I can't let them take me back to S.H.I.E.L.D, I need to find Loki, I need to find my baby!

The hand at the back of my neck only slams me down again, the owner of it less than pleased with my attempt given the angry words he is directing my way. He is even less pleased when I don't stop, my fingers trying to rip his hand away and the flesh from the bones within at the same time.

His unseen attempt to hit me for it is cut off by a sharp yell. "JACKSON!" I can feel the frustration from him in the bruising way his fingers are digging their way around my spine as he resists the urge to bash my head in. "You weren't thinking of hitting that woman in front of me, were you?"

"No. Sir." I can almost see the clenched teeth of the faceless man pinning me down just from listening to his tone. But I forget all about that as my original concern becomes even greater. "Good. Now bring her here so I can look at her."

The fingers tighten again, this time hauling me up off the hood and his other hand one at a time catching my wrists and wrenching my arms up behind my back, trying to see how far they can go past my shoulder blades.

He doesn't take any caution to the pain he is obviously causing me by the way he is crushing my torn wrist or the way my cheek stuck to the hood. I'm quite sure he secretly enjoys the idea of my pain. But that's okay. When he spins me around and goes to wrap his arm around my neck I inflict some of my own too, sinking my teeth into his arm.

It doesn't last nearly long enough or accomplish anything I wanted. The man holding me yells out a curse at the pain but then the one in front of me has his hand fisted in my hair and is making me cry too as he rips my head off his soldier's arm.

He may have spared me a blow to the head but while he isn't in favor of beating me he isn't about to spare me anything either. My "GET OFF ME!" is mixed with his "SHUT UP!" the fingers in my hair tightening and jerking my head back up so he can get a better look at my face. A face I am trying to hide.

He has a printout in his hand and I don't need to see it to know what's on it, not with the way his eyes are moving from it to me again and again. They finally stop."Welcome to the custody of the U.S Army Miss Elaine. You've been a very bad girl." ___No! No! My baby! I need to find my baby! This can't be happening!_ "Put her in the Humvee."

* * *

So Nora is a little screwed, so much for her plans. Well, leave a review.


	52. Day 7: part 14

Yeah! For another chapter. This one is a split POV one. Once more, Marvel is definitely not mine. Nora, the kitties, Duncan (wherever he is) and Kenna (who now has a picture up) are though.

* * *

I heard her scream, I ran that way. It was the right decision, the only decision I could make. Nora was screaming, there is only one thing I ever would do when she is screaming. Make her reason to do it go away.

I've fought and bargained with Fury to keep her safe and happy, I said fuck you to the Council and took a mission I never wanted to take again, just so I could keep any others from taking up the task and hurting her. I let this little girl, as Natasha would say 'compromise' me. I don't regret that for a second though. She is probably one of the purest deeds on very dark list of things I have done in my life, and I am about to add five more, just for her.

Five men, army by their uniforms, and given where we are they are probably from the 0338 regiment about 15 miles from here. Their Humvee has a Browning M2HB mounted on it and they are armed with M4 carbines. They don't even have them at the ready though, they don't seem to see the need because it's just one woman. ___Well I'm about to give 'em a very good reason._

They have her hands zip-tied, gagged and being held up off her feet by her waist well one of the brave fools tries to bind her feet too. She doesn't make it easy for them. Even with duck tape, ___oh they're going to pay for that_, over her mouth I can hear her screaming at them. The way she isn't giving up makes me proud, and I feel even prouder when she gets a leg free and connects it with the asshole's balls. Then I feel anger as another one raises the butt of his gun to her head.

* * *

I saw it coming, I was expecting it to come, I was even trying to squirm out of the way to avoid it. It didn't come. There was just a wet impact sound a split second before the man about to club me was screaming in pain and falling over, the gun clattering out of his hands as they clutch his head and all I can see is the handle of a knife sticking out of his ear!

Then everything is just going crazy around me.

I can hear boots pounding on the pavement and then the man who was holding me is suddenly not, and my body is falling without any grace. My back erupting in a current of pain when my hands, arms, elbows and shoulders take all of my weight on them suddenly.

But I'm not alone in my fall. The one who was holding me is falling too. His left leg suddenly not under him and his body taking him face first toward the concrete. His hands aren't quick enough to catch him because they were in the middle of trying to bring up his gun.

The next one isn't loosing his feet. One of them is running towards me, almost on top of me. He doesn't get to do that though. A body in black clothes stops him, a body I know. One of Clint's hands shoots out toward the soldier's throat and then there is something gleaming like metal and wetly red running down his throat, then there is his other hand driving a knife into his stomach.

"NORA! CLOSE YOUR EYES!" My ears hear those words but my mind doesn't understand them, and my body doesn't obey them. It just keeps looking at what is happening, wide-eyed and shaking and Clint isn't stopping.

He rips the knife from the now falling soldier and whirls around, turning at his hips and slashing another throat, this one of a man who tried to run up on him. I can feel the blood hitting my skin. People are dying, and they're dying right above me!

Another tries to get to Clint, to catch him and stop him. The knife swings down and arcs back up, catching the soldier under his armor and driving up behind his ribs into his heart. Clint's knife lifts him off his feet and slams him onto his back, the body bouncing and his legs flopping limply behind his skull as it lands.

The one that fell is back up again, then he is falling again. Clint's arm is outstretched and there is only an inch of the knife sticking out were an eye shoulder be and I think someone is still crying.

* * *

___Calm Barton! Calm down!_ I'm trying to order my body to relax, trying to command my heart to stop beating so quickly and the adrenaline in my blood to go away by sheer force of will, but it isn't working. That wired feeling isn't going away, that wish to hurt things, that 'thing's' hunger isn't going away. It's weaker than me now, but it's not gone yet. I can feel it fighting me for control, I've felt it fighting me this whole time. 'It' isn't satisfied with five kills, 'it' wants more, 'it' wants her. ___No! Dammit! No! You don't get her! Not her!_

She is right there, right next to me, and she is looking at me. She was looking the whole time. ___I need to get control back._ But then I hear one still alive. I left one alive, its the one with the knife in his ear. _Don't look at me Nora_ please. I'll get rid of this hunger with him. ___God Dammit, don't listen Princess, don't look._

Her eyes are wide, and filled with tears, and she is shaking. She is shaking so hard. Even her breath is shaky, it's coming out so fast I don't think she is even breathing in. She's going to hyperventilate at this rate, and that worries me. I don't try to stop it though. It might be better if she faints. I really don't want her to be awake and aware right now. ___I don't want her to see my eyes._ But she already has.

I can tell by the way she is now struggling against me. Her body trying to roll over and get back on her feet as I move toward her. She is crying, I can hear the whimpering behind the tape on her mouth as I catch her and lift her up, putting her over my shoulder and restraining her legs and body when she tries so hard to kick me and throw herself off me.

The door of the Humvee is still open, and it is there that I put her. I set her down as carefully as I can. I know she is in pain, there are new injuries on her. Thinking about them hurting her only makes the hunger of that 'thing' stronger, and gritting my teeth I shake it off. I regret it right away, her voice letting out another whimper and her eyes fixed on my face.

She is terrified of me again, and she has every right to be. I just killed four men right in front of her and it didn't even take me twenty seconds. She thinks I'm not her Clint anymore, and why shouldn't she, I have 'its' eyes again.

The monster who wears the skin of her friend, that's what she sees. That's what she retreats from. The moment my hands are no longer holding her legs she is scooting backwards, the blood from her injuries smearing across the seat divider and she doesn't even notice or care. All she wants to do is get away from me. But she can't get the door open with her hands like that, so she is trying instead to shrink as far into the corner as she can.

"I'm so sorry Princess." Her eyes widen even farther hearing those words and that tone, and I can hear her breath stop, and then the door is closed. I'm doing this to keep her safe. ___I won't let him scream, she won't hear a sound of what I'm about to do to him._ It's only going to take me twenty seconds, I can give 'it' enough with just twenty seconds.

* * *

Well there is chapter 52. We all knew she had to be saved somehow and there it is, with a twist. Who liked that twist? Please let me know in a review.


	53. Day 7: part 15

Yet another chapter for you fine folks. Now I'm gonna say this, and I'm not trying to sound vain. But people really like my stuff, lol, I guess I'm doing something right.

Marvel is not mine. Nora, Jareth, Duncaun, Modeus, and Kenna are.

* * *

I'm crying, but the sound really can't get out except through the sharp sniffling from my nose. My mouth is still taped shut, and any attempt to move it only makes my face feel like it's on fire, now more so since the broken skin is still being soaked in salty tears.

I don't care about that though, I don't care about anything, not the tears or the pain in my arms or the numbness in my hands. I don't care about any of it, and I don't know anything anymore.

I don't know who that was who put me in this seat. It looked like the other one, the 'not Clint'. 'It' destroyed those men like they were nothing. 'It' killed them. 'It' had those eyes again too. Those eyes that glowed with a cold light and were hollow except for hate. 'It' looked like danger and an enemy.

But then 'it' was picking me up, and it' was gentle about it. 'It' wasn't ripping at my clothes or carving into my skin with the knife I knew 'it' still had. 'It' wasn't hurting me. 'It' was even trying to not let me hurt myself. 'It' was looking at me with sorrow in 'its' eyes, 'it' was saying 'it' was sorry. 'It' was calling me Princess.

'It' was acting like my Clint, but looking like the 'other'. I don't know what to believe, and I'm scared.

I don't know what to do, nothing I try works, it only makes everything worse. I'm trying so hard, and it's all falling apart. I'm falling apart.

I just want to know where my baby is. I just want to hold her. I just want my friends to be safe. I just want to be able to do something right, anything at all. I just want it to stop. ___Yes, to just stop and go away._ I want it all to go away and there be nothing left, even me, I can go away too.___To just become nothing._ No pain, no suffering, no mistakes.___Nothing sounds so nice._

I can't do this anymore, I just don't know what to do because nothing I do is working, and I can't take it anymore, but the world is too cruel to just let me get away from all of this. It just won't leave me alone.

Loki, S.H.I.E.L.D, the Cube, that room, those soldiers, all of it. I hate it all. I only wanted to live out a quiet normal life. I never wanted any of this. ___I HATE IT ALL..., and that's a lie._

There is one thing I don't hate. I want to even, but I can't. It shut me in here. It is outside of that door. ___He came, and he saved me._ I didn't want him to, I was trying to escape from him, but he came and he saved me, ___again._

That's what he has always done, come to my rescue. No matter what it was, even if it was little stupid things.

He was supposed to run away, to leave me behind and get away. That was what I wanted him to do, it was the chance I was trying to give him. He put himself at risk instead, he came and saved me. I was trying to protect him and he ended up doing that instead because I can't do anything right.

___And he apologized to me, ME._ It is a sobbing sort of laugh that leaves me, but is muffled by the tape and only comes out as a "Mehnn..." sort of sound as my body breaks into another round of shivers. I bury my face into the cushion of the seat. I want to scream, but the world won't let me and my body is too weak to bother. ___Please, just stop, just make it stop._

* * *

Cutting it to start the tear I rip off the bottom of his pant leg, it's one of the only pieces of cloth that didn't get blood on it. Torture has never been popular with me. Not that I am opposed to it. It's just messy, and also not really part of my job.

I'm the person they use when they need a more permanent solution to a problem. Usually my only involvement in torture is after the fact, when they have what they need and that 'more permanent solution' is necessary.

That doesn't mean I don't know how to do it, or that I won't. I know how to torture, and I know how to do it well. There are many horrible ways to inflict pain without killing someone, may brutal and ugly things you can do to the body. He is lucky I only had twenty seconds.

Wiping the spray of blood from my face first I move on to my hands next, trying to get as much off of them as I can, but they still look pink and the rag is more bloody than clean. I just drop it down unconcerned as the cloth lands over his neck, and turning black it sinks in where his voice box used to be.

My feet take me to the one that took my knife in his ear, the blade driving into his brain. I don't waste time tearing off his equipment for the clothes under neither, his tee shirt and jacket becoming mine. She doesn't need to see the blood on my clothes, and it doesn't need to end up on her skin.

I gather up the rest of my knives, but leave that knife sticking out of his skull. I want them to know who killed them. I want them to know, so they will be wary, but more importantly I want S.H.I.E.L.D to know, so they know where to start looking. I want them to find me, so I can turn myself in. Not just yet though, not until I have hidden her somewhere safe.

It's been a minute, and that's a minute too long. It took me twenty seconds to kill these men, five to get Nora in that Humvee, another twenty to satisfy that 'thing's' lust for blood so it wouldn't be a threat to her. Then another ten to clean up and return to the vehicle. Those were seconds filled with the necessary actions, but any of them could have gotten us caught.

She won't even look at me. I open that door and with my hand grabbing above the door, and one foot on the bottom of the frame I look in the back seat at her and she breaks my heart, she looks away, she hides her face from me.

She doesn't see the pain in my expression, and I don't let her, I just swing myself the rest of the way into the driver's seat. ___She has every right to not wanna look at me._ I am getting her out of here, I am taking her somewhere safe, and then I am going to turn myself in, and if it's what she wants I'll make sure she never has to look at me again. ___I can do that much for her._

The drive should have taken twelve minutes if I gave a damn about speed limits. I don't. I made it in seven, but even hurrying, those are probably the longest seven minutes of my life, or at least the only ones I ever counted.

I'm slowing down now, not because we are at our destination though. I can't take this vehicle where we are going. It is too noticeable.

I'm pulling into a park instead. Not a lot goes on Thursday at midnight in this city, and that's good for me, because nobody will notice the abandoned and blood soaked Humvee until morning because of it. I'm counting on that because by morning we won't be anywhere near here.

Leaving the parking lot I pull onto the trail and near the river, letting the shadows of the trees hide it from the lights of the lot for the night before I cut the engine. The rest of the distance, which isn't even a mile, will be on foot.

In the next couple seconds I am out of the vehicle and around the side to her door. I only stop to look in the glass, checking my shadowy reflection. It's a reflection with no light in it, even right up in front of it, less than an inch from the window there is nothing. Not so much as a hint of a glow. ___...Thank you. Thank you so much._

* * *

The door opens, his voice whispers my name, it takes his hands, his gentle hands, on my shoulders and his strength to get me to acknowledge him. Those hands turning me around to face him. Those eyes attacking my soul. They're his eyes again.

"Shh, Nora don't cry." His voice is so sweet and full of concern, and he really shouldn't have said that, because those words make me realize that my eyes are leaking tears. Once I realize that it's impossible to stop them. I can't stop any of it. I'm shaking. I'm gasping, the breath forced through my nose in sharp heavy sniffles, ___I'm cracking._

He doesn't ask if it's okay, he doesn't hesitate. One of his hands wraps around my shoulders and pulls me forward, resting my face against his own, my cheek pressed against his collar feeling the warmth of his skin past the cloth. "Shh Princess, I got you. It's okay I got you now." He whispers comforting words to me as his other hand moves to mine, his voice even in a whisper, is deep enough that I can feel it travel out of his chest.

Then my hands aren't tied anymore, and what they do surprises us both, though I am too far gone to care.

I'm hugging him, but I'm not just hugging him. I'm clinging to him. My hands are fisted as much as they can be in the snug fit of his vest at his back, but more importantly my arms, my injured naked arms exposed by the bunching of those sleeves past my elbows are wrapped over his shoulders around his neck and I can feel them pushing down the collar exposing the warmth of his skin to the chilled contact of mine.

The fact that I am letting my skin touch his and not pulling away shocks him into stiffness for a second, but this is Clint and he never stays shocked long.

With a new found confidence I feel him slip one of his arms around my back and the other under my legs then he scoops me up, not even making so much as a hint that he wants me to let go. He just lifts me out of that seat, and leaning back a little on one leg uses the other to kick the door shut.

* * *

I don't complain about this touch or refuse it to her for a second. ___She is touching me, and it's willingly._ When she did it, for half a second I thought she might be thinking about choking me or hitting me. I've given her plenty of reasons to after all. I didn't expect her to hug me!

If she wants to hold me she can. I don't care that she's cold and sticky with blood. I don't care that she is soaking my shoulder in tears or the fact that I can feel the cut edges of the zip tie cuffs pushed so hard into my back they're scraping my skin. If she wants to touch me she can do it, her touch is a gift. It's a blessing.

Carrying her over to a nearby tree I kneel down, bringing both of us to the ground. Her reaction surprises me again. Thinking I am going to put her down she wraps herself even tighter to me. Now it is choking me a little. "Nora." but I'm not gonna let her know that.

I make my voice happy and cheerful for her. "Nora sweetie, I love that you're letting me touch you, really I do. But you need to loosen up for a second, so I can get that tape off you okay Princess?"

* * *

The hitch in my breath is even sharper at that word and he notices it, but he doesn't understand. "Shh, Princess, it's okay..." I can feel the solidness of his hands at my back, lightly running over Duncan's jacket and Loki's dress as he offers that sort of comfort too. "I know you're scared, I scared you, but it's okay now. You're safe now Nora, you're safe." he doesn't understand and I need words to make him understand.

I give him the only response I can that I know he will understand. I nod, and am mildly amazed that he could actually identify it past all my shaking. He does though, a new silent rumble leaving his chest when he chuckles a little. "That's my girl. It's only gonna be for a second and then you can go back to hugging me if you want." there is a small pause in his words before they pick back up. "But you gotta let go first Hun."

* * *

She agreed but her nerves are so shot she didn't even remember that it required her to participate to make it happen. Seeing it is still hard for her I help a little with it. Gently reaching behind me I let my fingers grip her hands and oh so lightly encourage them to free my vest from their vice grip. I don't make her hands move further than my shoulders, letting her grab onto that for some kind of comfort while I do this.

I've already apologized to her in my head, I know this will sting. Those fools busted her cheek open, putting a nice broken line over the top of her cheekbone, then wrapping tape around her head. At least they had the decency to not put it over the wound. ___I feel less upset about killing them because of that._ Not that I can say I really feel much of anything about it though.

Bringing one hand up I let it hover over her cheek for a second, in a silent request for permission to do what I'm gonna do. She doesn't disappoint me, being the smart kid I know she is. I can make out the small nod over the top of her trembling, and that is all I need.

Putting my fingers against her skin on either side of the cut I press against the flesh, offering her an apologizing look is she winces. I'm holding it, so it tugs less and doesn't tear it open more when I yank this tape off her pretty face. On the left side the tape lefts at a buckle where it folded as they stuck it down and I grab it there before looking her in the eyes again. "Okay, you ready? On four."

I don't get to four. I get to the 'Ta' sound of two and yank it off. I get a surprised cry of pain from her for that. But it was better I surprise her with it then let her tense up when four rolled past my teeth.

"Sorry Princess, let me look." Very slowly and gently I let my fingers turn her face back to me, guiding it by the chin instead of the cheek, so I can see how her cut fared.

Her skin that was under the tape is a nice rosy shade of pink with clean edges and the wound itself has leaked a few drops of fresh blood, but other than her flesh stinging she seems fine. Even her lips are okay, proving she had the sense to pull them in, so the tape wouldn't rip the soft skin there.

Then I'm chuckling a little because of what slips past them. Her voice is tiny, and it almost sounds like a pout as she informs me I "forgot three."

* * *

He chuckles at those words and smirks just a little as well. "I know, you can pay me back for that later okay?" Then he scoots just a few inches back closer to me, his arms out and making it clear what he wants, just like his words do. "Now let's get you up okay, we need to keep moving."

But the one thing Clint has always been is observant, and now is no exception. He can see the hesitation in my eyes, and I can see the recognition of it in his. "Nora sweetie, I'm not gonna hurt you kiddo okay. You gotta trust me. Trust me that I'm me."

I can feel the tears brimming again, and even though I try to stop it as a hiccupped "Ahehn" sound leaves me when my breath hitches once again.

He reacts just like before. Rolling his weight of his feet his hunkered position turns into a kneel and he leans forward, taking hold of my arms and pulling me into a hug, wrapping his strong arms gently but securely around my back. "Shh, I know, Shh, it's okay. I'm going to take care of you. I'm gonna take you home okay Princess?"

The words are so broken and soft when they leave me, mixed in with the sniffles, and sobs. He understands me anyway. "Course I keep calling you Princess, cause that's what you are Nora. You're my little Princess okay? You're my shining little star in an ocean of black. You're my little Princess, no one else's. I'm not one to share."

Then he is shifting again, the hands that had been against my back are releasing it. I don't get to wonder at why for long. "Now can you hug me again Princess? Because it will be so much easier to carry you that way."

* * *

___It's not a bad night, actually rather pleasant._ The temperatures somewhere in the high sixties, low seventies and what wind does blow is not that bad either, even up where I am. I'm just waiting, with a nice tune running through my head to pass the time.

_"____In the midnight moonlight hour I'll be walking a long and lonely mile, And every time I do, I keep seeing this picture of you."_

I've taken up residence in a cell phone tower for the night. It gives me a nice clear view of the sky. The moon isn't really out at the moment, scattered cloud cover hiding it and casting long shadows over the ground, and what is visible of that enormous rock in the sky is missing about a third of it to shadow anyway.

_"____Well, here comes my baby, here she comes now, Walking with a love, With a love that's oh so fine. Never to be mine, no matter how I try."_

That is okay with me though, because as lovely as the moon is she is not what I am really out here to see. ___It shouldn't be too long now. Not if I guessed it right._

_"____You'll never walk alone, and you're forever talking on the phone I try to call you names, but every time it comes out the same."_

Humming quietly I finish attaching the scope before unfolding the stock and testing that the cheek piece is in the right position before I adjust that too. The clip is the next thing I check, making sure all the bullets are lined up even in it, so it doesn't run the risk of jamming. The only thing left is dropping the stand down and getting into a comfortable position.

"Here comes my Lil Hen; here she comes now, And-a it becomes as no surprise to me with another guy." I murmur with a grin when my eyes look at the green world through my night vision scope, eagerly seeking the sight of something special.

* * *

Don't kill me. I know quite a few of you are gonna want to kill me, or him, or me. There was mention of a chainsaw, or maybe a stick too. Had to do it, runs away... Runs back. LEAVE A REVIEW! Runs away again.


	54. Day 7: part 16

Marvel is not mine, nor are its characters. I am only the owner of Nora, the kitties, Duncan, and Kenna

* * *

We are using the shadows to our advantage, staying just inside the tree line and working our away around the curve of the field that will bring us to the little airport.

I'm carrying her, amazed and honored with each second she that she never tells me to let go. She is a woman who can't be touched because it scares her, scares her so much her body thinks it hurts. But she doesn't stop me, she isn't squirming away or crying. She is just letting me carry her, my arm under the back of her bare legs and the other behind her back as she rests her face against my chest.

I'd be a liar if I said I didn't like it, she shows such trust and faith in me by doing that. I hate it too though. I hate it because I know what she was like. Eight days ago she wouldn't have been able to do this, let alone for this long. Sure she could touch people, but it was small quick touches. Like a handshake or a tap on the shoulder.

Then 'I' happened, and I know that ruined her a little. I could see it in how much more she shook and screamed when 'I' had her in 'my' damn hands. I had to see that for four days, her fear and her regression.

But then after four more days, she is letting me do this and all I want to know is what that son of a bitch did to her to make this way.

I love that she can put up with my touch, the touch of a killer, but I hate it so much too because I know one thing for sure. However she got this way, whatever he did to her, it had to be more traumatic, more frightening than the idea of skin ever had been to her.

She is shivering a little again, but I know it's still not fear. The wind is cutting a little through the trees, and the cooling effect of the shade is giving the midnight air just a hint of a chill to me, and I'm in full dress. All she has on is a torn dress and a jacket wet with blood.

I can't do anything about it though. I could take that one off her and give her mine, but it wouldn't accomplish anything. I know the blood from her cut arms is tacky against her skin by now. Taking off that jacket would only reopen the cuts and soak the new one with blood. All I could do is maybe wrap this one around her legs, but even that option is off the table. She won't let go of me to let me do it. I don't even need to ask to know that. I'm her anchor to the world now, and she won't give that up for anything. ___God I want to kill Loki so bad for that. What did he do to you Princess?_

I don't bring that up though, I go for distraction instead. I know every second she is quite she is just drowning in her own head, so I give her something else to grab on to.

"Hey Kiddo..." She doesn't answer me, but I can feel her head turn just the tiniest bit away from my chest, so she can look at me beyond the mess of her hair. It's enough of a reaction to let me know I can and should continue. "...you hungry? When we stop I can find something hot for you to eat, would you like that?"

That gets a reaction from her, albeit not the one I was expecting. "No?!" I can feel her head shake a little more against my chest, the weight of her cheek still not leaving it, then her voice appears, still small and soft and with a sniffle. "You'll pick something with jalapenos again."

That gets a small amused huff from me. "What?" Looking down at her I just smirk even though she doesn't see it. "I'm still not forgiven for that?" She just shakes her head, no doubt remembering her first and only encounter with jalapeno poppers.

I love spicy things, to me everything tastes better with some heat to it. So with that said I can eat jalapeno poppers like other people eat skittles. Well, Nora, bless her heart, saw me doing that once and wanted to try them.

She didn't believe me when I told her she couldn't handle 'em. She thought I was daring her. She took three of them and shoved them right in her mouth. I have never seen, before or since, her face turn so red.

She was out of that room so quickly I didn't even see which hall she vanished down, but an hour later I had a pissed off Natasha at my door demanding to know what I did to her, like it was my fault! ___I told her not to do it._

She spent the next two days doing her damnedest to avoid me and talking to me? Absolutely not. I had to conspire with Nat just to get her to come around.

It involved Nat inviting her to have lunch under the premise it was just going to be her and Natasha. We ordered Chinese food and a lot of different kinds too. One thing Nora has always been a fan of is food, and at that time Chinese was one of the kinds she had never had.

But even the temptation of new flavors didn't keep her from trying to make a run for it when she noticed I was in the room. We knew she was going to do that though, so I made sure Nat had locked the door before I let her see me.

It was actually kind of adorable, watching her try to stay mad at me as I introduced her to new foods, none of which were in any way spicy of course. To this day I have never seen someone enjoy a wonton so much in my life, and that was nothing compared to when she tried the crab ragoons.

The only time she was more upset with me than that was when I got her so drunk she ended up being best friends with the toilet for a while. Nat punched me for that, but I kinda deserved it, so it was okay. That took a week for her to get over.

So when she says I'm not forgiven I know she isn't serious. She forgave me for it that day in that room with Nat, even if she got upset when I said I wish I could have recorded it. Her reaction involved trying to knock me out with a pillow!

I adore her for it. For pretending she is upset with me, for being able to have a sense of humor even a little after everything she has been through. It means she isn't as broken as I was worried she was. It means under all the stress and trauma she is still in there somewhere.

"Seriously, not even after the ragoons?!" I can feel her head shake again, her face now avoiding my sight with a bit more purpose than avoiding the cold. "What about the egg-rolls, those didn't do it?" Again another soft head shake. "Or the tea? I introduced you to tea, that had to get me something!"

This time her response isn't a head shake, but words, spoken still in that small tired voice of hers. "I wou-wouldn't mind so-some tea." the steadiness of it suffers a little when another breeze puts goosebumps over her skin.

It makes my humor go away a little hearing that. Readjusting my grip a little tighter on her I try to offer her more of my warmth while I continue walking us closer to our destination. We should be almost there soon, the last little part will require us to cross some of the field, but I'm not to worried, not a lot of people live out this way.

"I'll get you some Princess, real soon. You just have to wait a little longer okay." I can hear a small "Mhm" leave her as she buries her face back against my chest. "I'll get you whatever you want."

Her arms pull themselves a little tighter around me after those words, and I can feel her trying to move up closer to my ear. I help her succeed in that task, adjusting my grip a bit too and letting her rest her head on my shoulder now. Then her quiet voice is in my ear. "Can I have the truth Clint?" and paralyzing me.

___Oh, god, Nora..._ There was so much pain in her voice, so much doubt and suffering, and need. ___Like she thinks I'm actually going to tell her no, after all of this, like I actually could._ "You break my heart Kiddo, you know that?" I don't give her the seconds to respond even though I feel her drawing the breath to do it. "I will tell you everything single thing I know, I'll tell you it all. And what I don't know, I'll find out. I promise you that, I swear it. Nothing in this world will keep me from giving you those answers."

She is crying again, I can feel warm tears replacing the cold ones that are already drenching my clothes. I don't say anything about them, I let her cry. She needs to cry, if she doesn't all that turmoil going on inside her is going to tear her apart. She has been nothing but strong and brave during all of this, but everyone has that point when they just need a break.

She should never have had to go through any of this, and she sure as hell shouldn't have had to find out about herself like this. I don't care what Fury says, or the damn council either. I'm done sitting on these secrets about her, and so help me god if they try to do anything to her they will not have very long to regret it.

The trees are thinning dramatically now, and I can see the runway lights. This place is VERY small, they don't even have a tower and only have a single runway. But that's because they don't need more than that. This place only handles small personal planes, and the occasional small private jet.

If they have one there I am even half considering taking it, but I know better. I would like to give her the luxury of it because she deserves it after all of this, but taking one of those will attract more attention than I'm willing to risk.

No, I'm going with the smaller planes. There should be plenty of little two seaters or four seaters there, stored in their own little private stalls and I've never met a key lock I couldn't conquer. I'm sure that's what they have too, this place isn't big enough bother investing in electronic locks.

But now I'm not worrying about locks and planes. I'm not worrying about wet clothes or where I might find her some tea.

All my thoughts are on the fire in my leg, and the way it can't hold my weight anymore.

All my actions are about making Nora safe, my hands releasing their hold on her and shoving her away from me back into the trees.

Now the fire is in my side too, and in my shoulder.

I can hear her screaming. It's my name she is calling, but all I can do is fall.

* * *

Still running, leaving a review.


	55. Day 7: part 17

Yet another chapter. Now I'm going to remind everybody in the audience that this story follows the MOVIE, and what didn't happen in the movie, hmm? So put down your pitchforks, and don't stop reading just because I'm hurting Clint. I own nothing. Marvel is not mine. Nora, Duncan, the kitties, and Kenna are.

* * *

He was making me promises and I was crying on his shoulder. But then everything changed.

He didn't scream or yell, the only sound that left him was a tight "Ngh!" barely audible beyond a muted wet impact sound and we were suddenly leaning to the right.

Then I was moving too, but not with him anymore. His hands dropped out from under me, and I was falling back to the ground, back onto my own feet, then I was falling backwards too. Clint's hands shoving hard against my chest and sending me away from him right before a spray of red erupted from his side and another wet sound filled the air, but this one had the sound of breaking in it as well. Clint was spinning around, thrown by some unseen force against his shoulder and finally yelling in pain as his body crumpled to the ground.

There was no sound in my ears, not from me, or the world or the movement of Clint's mouth. My body hit the ground, landing heavy on its back, but then I was scrambling back to my feet. I was running back to him, I wasn't obeying the motion of his hand as he waved me off or tried to push me away. I didn't understand it or even think about it, I was just acting.

I don't know how I can do it. Clint has easily fifty pounds of muscle on me, but me, a little woman of five foot three, is supporting Clint's weight, his arm over my shoulder now, and my hand around his side. What I feel there is terrifying me. What I feel is hot and wet.

It's him that makes me stop. I would have just kept going and not even thought about it because I'm not really thinking at the moment, I'm just reacting. There is a danger out there, and we need to get away from it. That's my thought process. Clint's is a little more focused though.

Instead of letting me continue to take us in a straight path back into the trees he shifts his weight and uses the fact that he is stronger than I am to force me to swing around, putting both of us behind a large tree and using its bulk as a shield and resting his back against it for support to take the burden of it off me.

With that action though my need to continue blind reaction finds a different direction. Clint is bleeding.

* * *

Lifting my head back away from the rested position it had taken against the tree I bring my hands up and catch her. She was trying to get that jacket off of me, to get to the wounds beneath my clothes, but I can't let her do that.

"Nora, Nora no." The command doesn't really get heeded, not that I blame her. The raspy pained way my voice came out really isn't that reassuring.

Swallowing back the pain a bit better, I try again, carefully restraining her hands from their goal on the the jacket, and getting a fiery pain traveling over my nerves as a reward.

"Nora! Stop!" This time the command seems to get through to her, but I almost wish it hadn't. Those brown tinged green eyes of hers are on mine and there is so much concerned fear in them and I know it's all for me.

"But! ..." It's in her voice too. It makes me feel horrible about what I'm about to do.

"I'm fine Nora..." I'm lying to her again, and right after I promised to tell her the truth about things too. The justification that it wasn't specifically this truth I promised her is a cheap and foul tasting excuse. "...it got the vest."

But this is Nora, and while she may be innocent and somewhat naive due to her lack of knowledge, she has never been stupid or blind. "No you're not, your side I saw...!"

_You're such a bastard Barton._ "I know kiddo..." I just keep on lying to her, picking and choosing the truths that suit my purpose, like this one. ___Is if a white lie makes it any better._ "...but it missed the important stuff."

At least that isn't a lie. It ripped a nice hole in my side. The fire there makes me damn sure of that, but it seems to have missed my organs. The shooter is either a shitty shoot or he was just going for making it hurt like hell. I'm leaning toward the second one personally.

Given the fact that the bullet that tore through my lower thigh didn't hit the artery or the bone helps that conclusion. This asshole didn't want to kill me, or cripple me even. That would be too nice. No, he wants me to be conscious and mobile, just to make the pain worse.

But not very effective, he seems to have wanted that too. Hence the bullet that connected with my shoulder. ___He misjudged that one though. That stupid British bastard._

I can't think of who else it might be. If it was S.H.I.E.L.D they wouldn't be going for disabling shots, trying to neutralize any threat before coming to collect me. As for the army, if it was one of their snipers, well they would have probably just killed me since I'm damn sure that Fury would have put me under dead or alive status. As for one of Loki's flunkies, well they would just kill me too. I'm sure he wouldn't mind me dead, especially if he's notices she is missing, and I'm sure he has by now.

No, the only bastard I can think who would want to see me suffer is that fucking spy. That's going to be the biggest damn mistake of his life, once I get him in reaching distance that is.

Sniping me was one of his smarter decisions actually, I'll give him that one. Trying to take me on up close wouldn't have got him anywhere. But shooting me and letting me live is not gonna end well for him. He doesn't get a time limit, I've been wanting to kill him all day. ___But my bigger question is where the hell he found a sniper rifle?_ He definitely didn't have one when I left him with that car.

That's not important now though, trying to figure out where the gun came from, he has it and that's the important part. That and the fact that he has at least two more rounds. Sniper rifles usually can hold around five in a clip, and he might have more ammo too. ___That's my concern, but it isn't hers._

* * *

I can tell he is in pain. I can see it in the tense set of his face and hear it in the edge of his voice, I can even recognize it in the way he is breathing, even if he is trying to hide it from me. But he can't hide the way I can see the wetness of blood glistening in the spotty moonlight.

"Let me look." He is still holding my wrists in his hands, keeping them there when I try to pull them free so I can do something to help him, anything at all. "Please Clint, please let me look...?!" He took two of those shots because he shoved me out of their way. Those were supposed to be for me. ___He saved me again, he got hurt for me. Again._

His eyebrows pull together with an apology, and he shakes his head softly, it only makes me try again to free my hands. But I stop when I see his wince deepen. ___Now I'm hurting him too!_

I'm causing him pain, and he still try's to comfort me. "Nora... ngh... It's okay kiddo." I can't even say his name steadily anymore. Then he is giving me even more. He pulls me to his uninjured side and hugs me there, letting me cry against him. Or at least he was until he heard me whimper out an "I'm sorry."

Now his hand is wrapped around my shoulder, and he is pushing me back, the look on his face a little angry at me. "Don't you dare!" He hisses out those words, his eyes trying to connect with mine, but I'm not letting them.

"Bu..." I loose that option though when his hand switches to my chin, making my face lift to his. "Don't you dare Nora. This is not your fault. Don't you dare think it's your fault."

I want to listen to him and do what he says, but I can't. "But you got shot Clint...!" the tears are coming back, and his strong arm is holding me again and I'm not done stuttering out my words. "You got shot because you threw me o..."

I can feel him rest his head on top of mine. "And I'd do it again. Shh, it's okay. I'll be okay. You're worth a little pain Princess. It's okay."

* * *

___God, she's so upset about this._ But then she's never seen me shot before, or anyone. This isn't the first time I've felt the bite of a bullet. I even have a nice scar decorating my skin from one, but that was long before Nora ever came along, and it was never more than a mark to her.

She's beating herself to pieces with guilt, and she has no reason to. Even if it was true that those shots were for her I wouldn't hold it against her for a second. I made a decision to put her out of harms away, the consequences are on me, not her.

And I don't believe it anyway. If he really wanted to shoot Nora he would have done it. He took out my leg first to make me drop her. He knew it would make me buckle and give me a chance to react, he knew I would shove her out of the way. He waited until after I did that to fire the next two shots.

She is never gonna believe that though. Guilt's a funny thing, once it's in there it's like a disease and it infects everything, making it very hard to cut back out. I don't have time to waste on doing that for her either at the moment. The seconds are ticking again, but for a very different reason this time. I give her the next best alternative I can think of, something to distract her.

"Nora..." I have to pause for a second to overcome the sound of pain that wants to leave me, but even with that I can but smile a little at her. Those eyes of hers are so focused and eager on me now, it's adorable. "I need your help okay. You need to do EXACTLY what I say, can you do that for me Princess?"

* * *

There's no question in my response and not a single second of doubt in me. I'll do anything Clint wants right now, anything at all. I'm just nodding and waiting for him to tell me what to do.

"That's my girl..." I know he has been trying really hard to not let me see the pain he is in, but his voice goes tight at the end of that sentence and his face contorts in pain, his uninjured hand gripping my shoulder.

"Clint?!" My voice is tiny, concerned and trying so hard to sound calm for him too. "It's okay kiddo." He just tells me again. He doesn't sound afraid at all. "You help me now, and we'll get out of this still, okay? You believe me right?"

Again, there isn't a moment of doubt or hesitation in my response, I even try and smile when he smirks at me. "Good girl." Then he gets right back to business. "I need your socks."

But my mind is still a little behind my ears and that confuses me. I have the thought that ___I'm not wearing socks_ before I realize he must mean the torn strips of my dress he wrapped around my feet. It makes even more sense as he keeps talking.

"My shirts plugging the hole a little, so we can't pull it out. We need to bind the wound."

That has my fingers falling limp. After I realized what he wanted I began untying the ends to work them off me. Now I'm just staring wide eyed at him and shaking my head a little. "Cl..."

* * *

I knew she would protest, and I don't give her the chance. Hooking my good hand around the back of her neck I make her look at me. "EXACTLY what I say, remember? You agreed."

She still shakes her head a little, sniffling softly at the thought as one of her hands squeezes mine and her other hesitantly reaches to touch my cheek. "B-But I'll hurt you..."

"Yeah..." I tell it honestly, I don't have time to sugar coat it for her. The seconds are still ticking. I can feel them ticking in my chest. "...you're gonna hurt me. It's gonna hurt like hell, and I might scream..." Her head is shaking even harder, and I can see her lip quivering as she try's so hard not to argue out loud with me or cry.

"But you're gonna do it because I need you to. I can't do it myself." I let my eyes drift to the arm on the other side, knowing her eyes will follow. "It bruised up my shoulder too much for me to do it myself..." I lie to her again, not giving her the whole truth like I should. "...you need to do this for me Nora. I need you to do this."

"Al-al-ri-ight..." Her voice is so small and cracking, but she nods, and she agrees and I'm smiling, and I'm hugging her again. "Good girl, good girl. It's okay. I'll be okay." I rest my head back on top of her head, running my still good hand over her hair. "But you gotta make it hurt Princess. It needs to be as tight as you can make it, don't you spare me an ounce of pain. You promise me that. RIGHT NOW."

"I-I p-pro-romise. I promise C-Clint. I-I prom-omise."

* * *

Leaning against the bottom of the tower I let my head rest back, taking another drag off my cigarette. I can feel the slight breeze ruffling my hair a little. I can even feel my skin forming little bumps from the slight chill before smoothing back out. I'm in a tee shirt now since I gave her my jacket. Not that I mind terribly much since it did look quite good on her, even if she was bleeding. I hope that doesn't make her too cold.

That thought pauses as my ears sense something next, a sound carried on the wind, then a small grin is spreading over my lips. ___Now that's a sound I don't mind hearing._ It's always nice to know you've done something right, a certain gratification for a job well done.

There's another sound I am hearing though, but this one is behind me. It's the sound of footsteps, and I know exactly who they belong to. Taking another drag off the cigarette I drop it and let it suffocate under my boot heel before I push myself up out of my lean and turn to greet my guest. "I take it it's time to go after 'em now?"

"Oh, not quite yet. It will not do to let haste ruin all of our hard work. This will be a prize that is worth a little patience."

* * *

So there is the most recent chapter, and Oh look who showed back up. Things are getting serious here, and oh yeah WTF Duncan?! I'm curious, anybody got any opinions on Duncans motives here? Like always, please leave a review.


	56. Day 7: part 18

Since I know you are all eagerly waiting... Marvel's not mine, Nora and company are.

* * *

"No, no Nora, there's a log there, go around it." She may be driving, but I'm the one steering.

She did exactly as I asked of her, she tied it tight, and it hurt just as bad as I knew it would. That bullet went all the way through me and left a bigger hole on the way out than it did going in, but she did what I wanted, she made it hurt alright. I couldn't keep that yell of pain in, and I tried.

I made her do to the same with my leg. I had to talk her into that one too, but again she did what I wanted.

Now she is supporting my weight on her bloody shoulder and helping me, though that isn't a literal statement. Nora is only 5 ft 3 to my 5 ft 10. I would have to bend over to actually let my weight rest on her shoulder, so she is supporting me in the next best way that she can. Her little bloody arms wrapped around my uninjured one and making it a little easier for me to limp my way through this small forest.

But my vision is better than hers and having no desire to trip over anything I am navigating us around the obstacles she doesn't see, like this time a log buried under half decayed leaves. She doesn't mind though. ___She's become rather business like about it._

She's set her mind on a mission and is trying not to think about anything else, and that's actually really good of her to do, it's good for her too.

I'm doing it too, focusing on things other than the rocketing pain in my leg when I use it to step or the way my side screams as the muscles shift. Not that it's easy though, and it's becoming less and less easy as we continue on, but for reasons I haven't told her and don't want to let her see. Professional or not, trained to deal with this or not, pain is still pain. All training does is teach you to not be crippled so much by it.

It's with that logic in mind that I find myself impressed. She's still not complaining. I know she's in pain, I know she's cold, I even took away her footwear and now she is walking over rocks and pieces of wood. I can tell it hurts her to, sometimes her balance falters or she winces a little when she steps on something wrong and it digs into the arch of her foot, but she doesn't say anything about it. ___I am proud, and Nat would be too._

We have been taking care of her and watching over her all this time, and she just keeps showing me how much stronger she is than we ever realized or gave her credit for. For once in my life I'm glad I underestimated someone.

Her eyes turn up to mine, and I don't need her to speak to know what she will ask, it's much like before. "Ten feet, round the left." She wants to know where to go, where the obstacle ends and the ground is safe to walk on, so we can keep on moving. But another thing I don't need to be told to know is how my short, tensely spoken answers are worrying her.

I'm trying really hard not to keep my voice from sounding like that, but it is to my great annoyance a seemingly impossible task to do anymore.

I've been trying to think of something, because Dammit, I told her we could still get out of this alright. But I keep bashing my head against the wall. Indiana is a very flat place, and we're gonna be running out of trees to hide in eventually. Then after that it's suburbs, and those aren't any better.

My original plan was very simple, and in the grand scheme of things too not a great one. It was just getting to a little plane before they could stop us and fly low under the radar until it ran out of gas, then go from there. Not a great plan, but it was the best I could come up with at the time.

I just needed to get us out of there. I didn't have time to come up with a great plan, I didn't have time to work out all the details. I had at least four different forces coming after us, and all of them were pretty much coming for blood.

But now I'm a damn cripple being held up by a little girl trying to escape from a knock off member of the Beatles! And to top it off this pressure isn't getting any better.

That's what I never told her, that's why I'm a bastard. I was hoping I could come up with something before it got to this point. I wasn't even sure it would get to this point, I was hoping it was only bruised.

It didn't hit a vest because I wasn't wearing one for it to hit. It ripped through my shoulder muscles and cracked a nice star pattern into my shoulder bone, some of the bullet getting stuck there on the way out. I can feel it back there, sending white hot fire over my nerves with every little jolt.

That's not my problem though. My problems a little lower. It's my lung. I can't tell how bad the damage is because it's internal. But I can feel it, the pressure growing in the left side of my chest. That bullet must have nicked the top part of my lung on the way through. My chest is slowly filling with blood and air that shouldn't be there.

___Don't make me let her down! Please! Please... Just let me take care of her Dammit, don't make me a liar... Please God._ If there is really a divine power up there he may be right in thinking I deserve this fate, but she doesn't Dammit, she's never done anything to deserve this.

I couldn't react quick enough. It felt secure at first as my foot landed on it, but now the ground is dipping under my foot and I'm realizing too late that I've probably collapsed some part of the small animals burrow. But really don't give a shit about that, not when it's my side that hits the ground first. My cry of pain before has nothing on this one.

* * *

I tried to catch him, but I failed. My hands couldn't find the grip they needed to stop Clint's stumble. They were too slick with new blood, the cuts seeping from the effort of helping Clint walk, and beyond that Clint's just heavier than I am.

But now he is on the ground and showing only agony. His good hand is bracing himself up off the forest floor and each breath leaving him is filled with a sharp groan as he lifts his weight and rolls himself over, only to scream again as his back lands in the dirt.

My frozen state of shock is shattered with that sound and I am hurrying over to him, allowing my knees to buckle and falling down next to him, my movement now a crawl as I scramble the rest of the way to him.

"Clint! I! Oh god! I'm so sorry!" He looks like he is in so much pain, his eyes still clenched tight just like his teeth as his breath comes out in a sharp wet hiss. ___Wet?! No..._ my ears aren't wrong though, not like I want them to be. I CAN hear a wet sucking sound from Clint, I can even see now the blood soaked state of his injured side.

* * *

There is no stopping her this time. My hand catches hers when it returns to fumble with my zipper only for the other one slap me hard in the face.

I don't think she didn't it intentionally since she kind of stiffened up in surprise afterward and looked at the hand that did it, but then she went right back to what she was doing. She yanked my hand back to the dirt and rested the weight of her leg over it making me feel a little proud cause I think she picked that up from watching me or Nat spare, even if she isn't doing it quite right.

Then she has the vest open and even my shirt is forced to surrender to her. Her quick tiny little hands finding the hole in it and just tearing at it. It's very awkward actually, since this is my little sister and I never would have imagined or wanted her to be the one doing it, and given my situation it's absurd too that I even care.

But I do, because now she can see it. She can see the blood soaked into my skin, and the gleaming red sheen of its wetness running down my side. She can see the almost black edges of the bruised and torn flesh around the entry wound. She can see the reddish frost of blood oozing in and out of the wound with each breath. She can see what I was hiding from her, she can see my lie.

* * *

It's strange this time, because I'm not crying. There are no tears in my eyes. This feeling is too great for tears, it burned them away.

So they left my eyes and took up residence in my voice instead. "Clint? Why?"

I don't need to say more than that. He looks at me, and he looks so sad, his eyes so full of regret and apology. "I didn't want you to worry Kiddo." If I had a response to that it is overridden by his actions, my concern returning full force. "Clint, no. Yo..."

I was going to say he needed to stay lying down, that he needs to not move, but his words change my mind, shoving logic back in my head. "I need to sit up Nora, I can't breath." Came his raspy, wet, and agonized but oddly calm words.

* * *

She helps me with that, her little body just moving and lifting up my good arm she puts herself under it, this time taking my weight on her shoulders. It works this time, because I don't stand up to my full height, I just kind of crab walk backwards a few feet as she rests me against a tree.

It helps, so does leaning my head back against the tree to open up my airway a little more, but it's only a small respite. It's like putting a band aid over an amputation. It's not nearly enough to make it better.

"What do I do?" it's her voice that makes me look back at her, letting my head fall forward again from its resting place.

She is sitting there now, her legs tucked under her and her hands on her knees and she is just looking at me intently, waiting for me to tell her how to fix me, how to make this situation better. ___But the only answer I can give her is gonna make her cry._

* * *

"You run... Nora..." he isn't trying to hide the breathlessness of his voice anymore. He isn't making the effort to keep it from me so I don't worry, and that just scares me. That and the answer he gave me. It's not the answer I want.

"No. What else do I do?" I can feel the tears coming back now, and in a way it's strange, since what I felt before was so strong they couldn't get out, but what I'm feeling is only getting stronger now and they're coming back.

* * *

The look that got me is almost adorable, if it was given in a situation other than this I know it would be. Its concern, and annoyance, and despair, and overwhelming amounts of love. She just gives me that look as she shakes her head and asks for an option two when there isn't one.

I love her for it, her refusal to give up on me. I love her for it, and I can't stand it at the same time. ___I love you Nora, but you can't be stubborn with me right now Princess. I need you to go. Just leave me and go!_ I want to say all of that, I want to say so many things to her. The only word I get out is a raspy "Go."

She just shakes her head again, this time so harshly and quickly I can feel tears hit my skin. ___I'm making her cry again._

I loved that about her too, how much she always cared about me. I am a killer, and she knows it. She's known it for a very long time, almost from the beginning. I told her she was under my protection because no one could keep her safer, no one could destroy the men that wanted to hurt her better than I could. I taught her the definition of a word she didn't remember. Assassin.

But she loves me, like a brother. She defends my name when people talk poorly about me. She says they just don't know me, that I'm not that bad. She doesn't hide her affection for me from anyone. She hugs me in public and sees nothing wrong with going somewhere with me, no matter many times they try to tell her it's not a good idea.

She has had nothing but faith in me all this time. Even when 'I' hurt her, I kept seeing her look for me in 'my' eyes, because she still had faith in me. I can see that look now, and it's killing me. She hasn't given up that faith that I'll make everything better. She's waiting for me to do that, and I'm gonna let her down.

I can't walk. I can't breathe, and the seconds are still ticking. They're ticking with each painful breath that I can't take anymore, and she is giving me that damn look.

She doesn't move away when I bring my hand up. She helps me do it. ___God bless her, she helps me touch her._ She helps me bring my hand up to her cheek and against her skin, and the whole time her eyes never loose that look. ___She always had such... Pretty... Honest... Eyes..._

* * *

Uh oh... BYE! Runs away yelling "LLLEEEAAAVVVEEE AAA RRREEEVVVIIIEEEWWW!"


	57. Day 7: part 19

Hey! look what it is! ANOTHER CHAPTER! OMG! I still own nothing. Marvel is not mine. Nora, Jareth, Duncan, Modeus, and Kenna are.

* * *

"Clint?" He was reaching his hand up and it seemed so hard for him, so I helped. I took his hand by the wrist and I could feel the pulse of it under my fingers, and his calloused skin against my cheek and I didn't care. I just kept asking him to tell me what to do, how I could help him. He said a word that made no sense to me. He said "...eyes..."

And now I'm looking at him, and I can't see them. They aren't open. He's not opening his eyes. "Clint...!" ___He's not opening his eyes! He's not moving!_ "CLINT!"

He doesn't even flinch, not even when I screamed his name. "No...please, please... No. No!"

It's not tears now, they are streams. It's sobs and shivers and breath that has to hitch just so I remember to inhale.

"Clint please..." Scooting forward I bring my hands up to his cheeks, dropping his limply in the process and lifting his head that had been leaning to the left back up to look at me. ___His skin is still warm..._ That just makes it worse, my voice not making words, just a sharp "h, h, h, h, h, hen, h, h, h, h..." sort of sound.

Tilting his head back I let it rest against the tree, my hands smearing blood on his cheeks even as my falling tears wash my own off my arms. "...don't go. I need you..." ___I'm begging him, but he's still not moving._

"You can't go. Hehn." His eyes are supposed to be open, they're suppose to be looking at me and making feel safe. "You promised me, you said..." There's a sob in between nearly every word I speak. "You said, I'd never be alone. You promised me that. So come back Clint, come back."

It was one of the first promises he made me, it's my greatest fear. I lost everything, my family, memory, my time. I lost it all. That's my greatest fear, not touch, or the unknown. It's losing something, something precious and irreplaceable. ___He promised me I'd never lose anything like that again._

He promised me that after my first Christmas awake. It was New Year's eve, and everybody else was celebrating the beginning of a new year and a chance to start over, but not me. I was with Natasha, and Clint, mourning the loss of my life because it was the anniversary of that night. They told me the car bomb went off on New Year's eve. They told me I lost my life on that night.

Clint promised me, he said I'd never have to lose anything like that ever again, he'd make sure of it. ___He promised me that._Even if none of what they told me is true, he still promised me that. But he is still leaving me alone. "Clint, come back. Come back." I get nothing, yet again. "Please come back."

I can't even speak anymore, I'm just curling into myself, sob after sob shaking me to the core so hard it makes my body hurt. Then I'm screaming. "GIVE HIM BACK!"

I'm screaming at heaven. At God, his angels, or anything up that has the gall to look at me. "YOU CAN'T HAVE HIM! HE'S MINE! MINE YOU HEAR ME! MINE! YOU DON'T NEED HIM, NOT LIKE I DO! GIVE HIM BACK TO ME! GIVE HIM BACK!"

But I can't keep it up. I'm crumbling again, this time my arms resting against the earth and my tears raining on it. "He's my brother, just give him back, ple-e-e-e-a-a-a-se..."

"Heh!" I'm not kneeling in the dirt anymore. I'm on my back, my hands behind me and holding myself up by them, my eyes wide and unblinking at the sight before me. It's a little sprig of leaves on a branch. It's what I felt against my skin and what startled me into this position. But it's not that it is just leaves on a branch. It's that the branch looks dead, but the leaves are growing!

I can see them doing it. Tiny little buds are turning into little green sprigs and spreading out into proud little green leaves, waiting for the sun. They're growing, from my tears. I am growing things with my tears. It's like seeing mag...!

___Vanir... People...Magick..._ Loki said I have magick in me. That I belong to a people who can use magick. He said the stones were the magick of 'my' people. That we made those, that we made things that can heal. ___We can... Heal..._

I didn't feel my feet move, but now I'm right back at his side. I made a leaf grow on a dying branch by crying on it. I have to try. I don't care about anything else. I have to try.

I almost push my fingers into the wound I do it with such haste. My hands wiping the tears from my cheek and pressing them against his wounds. "Come on! Please work, please!"

I can't see anything though. The blood is so heavy on him, still oozing out of that wound. Worse yet though, is that the concept of hope is drying up my tears.

___I can't stop crying! I won't! I'll cry forever if it will get him back._ It hurts worse than when I got the wound in the first place, but my teeth don't stop sinking into my skin. I need to cry dammit. I'll rip the flesh off me if I have too. ___I can't let him die! I can't!_

"Come on Clint..." I 'm pressing a small pool of tears into his wound, collected in the hollow of my hand. "...don't leave me, you can't leave me okay, you're not allowed to leave me!" ___I still can't tell._

My teeth are driving deeper into my skin this time, drawing a pained cry past the bleeding flesh in their grip. I get a little more tears in my hand this time for my effort, and they go right back with the others, pressed above the wound slightly and pulled down, so they all get there, each salty little drop.

"Oh god yes! Yes!" I pull back hysterical with joy, my hands covering my mouth. I can see a small circle of new pink flesh on the inner rim of the wound. It's working!

My joy is short lived. Ten more small of tears are pressed into his open wound, but it still hasn't closed over, it's still not enough.

I have an idea though. My tears made a plant grow, they are making the flesh heal, but they are only tears. They are water and salt escaping my body. I need something better.

It's a knife this time, one of Clint's throwing knives. It's a deep carved line into my hand. Its done again, and again until I can't see the cuts past the blood. It's a knife held in my carved up hand and doing it to the other one. ___If my tears can heal him my blood should be able to do it too. If it can save him he can have it, all of it. I don't care. He just needs to come back._

Putting one hand on his chest I cover the wound there with my hand and wrap the other one behind him, so I can do the same to the back. I'm sitting in his lap trying to heal him with the blood of a people I didn't believe I was a part of and magic that I didn't even know I had. I believe it now, and I'm resting my head against his shoulder, reminding myself to stay awake. I just need to stay awake, just for a little while longer. ___Clint will be mad if I'm not awake when he comes back._

* * *

Well, would you look at that. There's hope for Clint after all, but Nora might be in some trouble. I'm just not giving them any breaks am I? Well, leave a review please.


	58. Day 7: part 20

Marvel is still not mine. Nora and Company are, now read on.

* * *

"Shit..." It took me a little bit of time to find their trail and track them down, but I did it. I don't like what I'm seeing though.

He is leaning against an oak tree, his head lolled to the side with his arms limp and his legs sticking out in front of him. The only thing that is holding his bloody body up in that position and keeping it from falling to the ground is hers. ___Her bloody body._

She is sitting in his lap, her legs draped casually across his. They are missing the bandages I remember seeing on her and I can see the lower half of her legs are scratched up a little and covered in dirt, with leaves clinging to her clammy skin.

It's not her legs that worry me though. It's those arms of hers. She has one wrapped around the back of him and the other over his naked chest. That's another thing that's changed since I had them in the scope, but that's not important. She has her fingers intertwined over his shoulder to keep her bloody arms from falling most likely, and they're not just red with blood, they're almost black with it.

It's running down her skin like a small river. It's soaking into her green dress. It's dripping on to her legs, and his. It's turning the ground around them into mud. ___This! Was not! Part of the PLAN!_

She's going to bleed to death like that. The only way I know she hasn't already is I can hear her voice.

It's small and a bit muffled by the way her head is resting like a dead weight against his other shoulder. But she is definitely speaking, even if what she is saying makes no sense.

"an... and you can teac-ch Ke... but only... w-with a... Nerf..." she's just rambling out random words, but I bet in her head they make sense, the even seem to amuse her a bit because the next words have a slight chuckle to them. "...ac-actice... on-on To-Tony eve..."

Hurrying over to them I don't even bother checking on him. I know my shots were good, and even if he hasn't died yet he doesn't have long, that and I just don't give a shit about him. I only care about her.

The doctor gave me a blanket for her, and for once that pestering old man actually did some good. I remember him always asking the people who checked in on her how she was doing, though it was mostly Loki and his pet killer. I was actually glad that for most of the time I spent with her he was unconscious.

This time though his bothersome antics actually are going to save my skin. Loki would kill me if she died, and the way she is looking now, ___well..._ I stop that though before I start it really. She won't die, not this one. It's as simple as that. I'll just take her back to Loki, and he'll make her better. We always knew this was a risk, that this might happen. ___I just didn't expect it to be THIS bad._

Seeing her like this puts a whether substantial roadblock up on my plan to take her out of here and keep her for myself. I'm definitely going to need to take her somewhere to get healed, and depending on how bad it really is will determine to whom I take her.

"Lil Hen?" My voice doesn't even register in her ears, and I am right next to her. ___That's really bad._ I need to hurry even more now. I quit bothering to try and unfold the thermal blanket, I just grab an end to it shake it open, letting it spread over the ground as it drifts its way down.

I forget about it for a second after that. I need to get her off him before I can wrap her up in it.

Scooting back the few feet I moved away I kneel back down next to her. She's starting to worry me. When my fingers touch her skin, her cold clammy skin, she doesn't even react. She just continues to mumble things for the man she is clinging so desperately to.

Gently holding on to her chin I turn her face from its resting place against the hollow of his throat and confirm my suspicions. She is definitely in shock.

There's no light in her eyes. They are supposed to be green, but right now her pupils are bigger than her irises and there is a cloudy look over them. Her eyes are open but I know she isn't seeing any of this. She is just staring into oblivion.

With a mouth covered in blood.

That shocks me. I didn't quite know what it was at first. I thought maybe it was dirt on her face since it didn't feel wet. But her chin, her lip, her cheeks too, they're covered in dry flaky blood. It's like she bit something, but I can't tell what. My eyes do a quick scan of him, but I don't see any wounds other than the ones I gave him.

I move on, it doesn't matter what she bit. I need to get her back to Loki and quickly.

"Nora..." Moving my hand from her chin to her cheek I put the other one on the opposite side, letting my hands support her heavy head and turning it to look at me. I'm using her name in the hopes I can get a reaction from her. In a state of shock like this if I just take her off him she might panic, and her struggle against me will only make it worse, I can't risk worse.

"NOR-A... IT'S ME, DUN-CAN..." I'm over emphasizing each syllable, making each word dramatic and heavy without raising my voice and yelling them at her. "NOR-A? CAN YOU HEAR ME? I'M GO-ING TO HELP YOU O-KAY? I'M NOT GO-ING TO HURT YOU. IT'S DUNC..."

Her voice is barely there, but I can hear it, her tiny broken voice finishing my name right along with me. "...Duuuncan..." The light still hasn't come back into her eyes, but the fact she is still conscious enough to repeat even a word I am saying is a good sign for me.

I let my face take on a gentle smile just in case she does see anything and try to encourage her back to awareness a little. "THAT'S RIGHT. DUN-CAN." It seems to be working too. Her little voice repeating my name with more and more strength is it continues. "Dun...can, Dun-Dun...can. Dun...can. Duncan? Duncan?!" The dead look in her eyes fades along side with it. "DUNCAN? DUNCAN?!"

She almost knocks me back a little, her body launching forward and clinging to me now, more of a fall than a lunge, and now her face is buried in my shoulder and she is crying on me "Shh..." and I'm grinning into the night with delight she can't see. "Shh, it's okay Lil Hen. I'm here, you're safe now."

* * *

**... Well, shit. So once again Nora is in trouble, because the things you don't know are the worst, and last she knew Duncan wasn't a threat. Hmm... Yep, just... Shit. Well anyway, leave a review. Lol**


	59. Day 7: part 21

To Jesus4ever, in answer to your questions. The rating is because (at least in my opinion) of the level of violence, psychological abuse, and general trauma that Nora undergoes. It seems more than what could fall into a T rating. This is not listed is a romance, and well I am aware many M rated stories have that a sexual nature in them, not all M content has to fall between the sheets. Lol.

Is for your guess on Kenna's parentage, it's a good one, given what I have revealed so far. It is the conclusion I am steering people towards.

For your opinion on chapter 58 all I can say is "You think so, huh?"

And last but not least, your confusion. Well I apologize for that I also secretly rejoice in it, because it means my story is not predictable, or at least not very predictable. I only ask that you keep reading, I have a planned out series of events in my head, there are logic and reasons for what I will do and have done. I even plan on explaining it too, depending how the chapters progress is far is content I can fit in each one, it should be in the not so distant future is well.

Marvel is still not mine no matter how much I wish it to be. Nora, Jareth, Duncan, Modeus, and Kenna still are though.

* * *

"Hey. Whoa..." Aside from a few choking gasps she doesn't seem to be stopping for air, or planning to either as she speaks so quickly that each word is blended with the last, and the next. "Slow down. You need to slow... Down..."

She is still in shock, at least a little. The only difference now is that she switched to the other end of the spectrum. Instead of being dazed and unresponsive she has now become overly aware and anxious.

She nods like she understands and agrees with me, like she even intends to listen to my advice. Her eyes however are still darting around quicker than a hummingbird, and I can see the next wave of words almost ready to escape her.

I stop them before they can begin. Reaching out I gently take her cheeks in my hand again, making her eyes focus on me. It serves a double purpose too, while I am speaking I also have some of my fingers resting against the vein in her neck to check her pulse. "Slow... And steady... I can't understand you. You need... To slow... Down..."

This time I can tell she really gets it. I can see it sink into her mind past her still wide eyes.

The sense of pain seems to come back also. Her face tightening up in a wince as she seems to remember that her head is pounding. Her hand comes up to clutch her skull, and while I stop it I don't do it quick enough. Her eyes see her blood soaked hands.

* * *

I didn't feel those either until my eyes landed on them, the cuts on my hands. I am sure that physically they were still sending pain through my nerves, but until my eyes landed on them the signals didn't register in my head. They do now. My hands feel stiff and sticky, and like there is a dull sort of fire burning in their flesh.

That's not what I really notice though, this is. ___They're not bleeding anymore?!_

They are still raw and broken, and there is no doubt that the cuts are still present in my skin, but they aren't bleeding as much. The edges seem to have started sealing themselves somehow while they wait for the rest of the healing process to catch up and return my hands to their normal state.

But they can't stop bleeding, I need them to bleed to heal... ___Clint!_

* * *

I imagined she would panic at the sight, or have become hysteric and confused. I didn't think she would suddenly lunge for the corpse leaning against the tree.

She also didn't seem to expect me to stop her.

She moved really quick, a lot more so than I thought she would have been able to in her condition. That didn't stop me from catching her sideways by the waist though and pulling her back. I can hear it knocking the wind out of her a little, but she covers it quickly, yelling at me to stop. Yelling about how she needs me to let her go, so she can save him.

She doesn't just resort to yelling though. Her hands are scrambling over the ground, trying to find something she can hang on to as I pull her back to her feet, kicking and screaming in frustration. I don't give her what she wants, and in denial as well I tell her it's pointless, because he is dead.

"Nora, stop! He's gone! He's gone Lil Men! I'm going to take you to MI-..." That sentence doesn't really finish with the birth of a suddenly fiery light forming with a sharp sound against the side of my skull.

* * *

My hand closed around something hard and I didn't even bother identifying it before I swung it around into the side of his face, hitting him somewhere between the brow and his ear. He was trying to keep me from Clint, and that was the only thing that mattered. I couldn't let him keep me away from Clint, I had to see if he was alright, if it worked.

He lets out a sharp "AHGH!" sound as whatever I held collides with his skull hard enough to actually form an echo and then his hands aren't locked around my waist anymore. They are on his head and reaching out to try and break his fall as he pitches backwards and I fall to the ground with my own cry of pain when I land on my arm.

I don't let myself stay that way long, I forced myself to get back to my feet. The dirt sticking to my bloody arms doesn't matter. The throbbing ache in my head doesn't matter. The fact I am so dizzy the world was shifting around me a little doesn't matter. The fact I might have just cracked Duncan's skull open doesn't matter to me either. ___Only Clint matters._

My feet don't take me all the way there though. The dizziness is in more than just my vision, it is affecting my balance as well and half way back over the short distance to him I feel my left leg misstep and slip on some wet leaves hiding beneath the top layer. I don't let it stop me more than a second, only long enough to recollect my focus a little more. I crawl the rest of the way.

I know why I am this dizzy. I have that knowledge in my head. The loss of blood is technically known as hemorrhaging. There are four classes to hemorrhaging. Class I isn't really that serious, it's the loss of up to 15% of the blood in your body. It sounds like a lot, but it's really only about how much is taken when you donate blood.

Class II is the loss blood up to 30% of the total volume within a person. The blood vessels shrink in an attempt to maintain blood pressure. It's also not that serious, a saline drip is usually sufficient treatment and a transfusion is not needed.

Class III is where it starts to become a serious concern. The loss of blood up to 40%. Your blood pressure drops, your heart rate picks up, and shock sets in. Transfusions are necessary at this point as well as fluids to restore a person's health.

I think I am somewhere between class II and III at the moment. That leaves me with 60% left for Clint. ___That should be enough._ Then when Clint wakes up, we'll be going and he can get me that tea he promised and I can apologize for clubbing Duncan in the head.

In a distant part of my mind I'm aware my logic is anything but logical. That I'm not making any sense, but even knowing that I just continue crawling my way to him. Because there is one piece in my head I know makes sense, because I knew it before I was dizzy and cold and tired. ___Clint is important. Clint is necessary._

* * *

"Eh..." I landed on my back despite my efforts, and in fact those efforts only made my pain worse. My arm failed to catch my weight and ended up being bent behind me at an odd angle which I think sprained the muscles in my shoulder a little, but that pain is less than the one on the side of my face. "...Ahh." Which is bleeding apparently.

Pulling my hand back I force my blurry vision to focus on the sight of them and confirm the information my nerves are already giving me. My fingers are covered in a lovely layer of fresh hot glistening blood. ___For a woman who can't walk she sure has a mean left hook._

If my hands hadn't been occupied with restraining her I might have been able to catch it. But the way I was holding her and the fact that I was giving her the advantage that time. That was my mistake, but hers was taking advantage of it. ___I had planned on being nice._

Groaning, I tug my sore arm out from under my weight and roll over so I'm now resting on the front half of me. My arm voices its displeasure with what I am doing, but I ignore it. Pressing both palms into the dirt I push myself up to my knees, trying to regain my equilibrium. It shouldn't take long, I can already feel the world realigning itself in my head.

Shaking my head a little more I finally feel steady enough to trust my feet to work as they should and keep me stable as well as upright. "Alright then, not so nice way it is."

* * *

I had my hand on his shoulder, but now it's dragging down his chest and over the dirt. The cause behind this sudden shift is a pair of hands wrapped around my ankle. They jerk me so hard and fast away from Clint that when they release me I continue, my body leaving the ground a little before hitting it painfully and rolling a few more feet only to be stopped painfully by the presence of a tree at my side.

"Eh-henh..." My lungs don't seem to know how to work for a second as I try to lift my weight off them on unsteady arms with the hopes that it will make it easier. That attempt along with my other one are countered by the appearance of a pair of boots.

* * *

Seeing her reach for the knife that had fallen from her grasp during the fight I kick it out of the way, taking her arm support out from under her at the same time by throwing the side of my boot against her hand before it continued and sent the blade flying unseen somewhere into the underbrush.

She lets out another cry of pain as her weight lands on her torn up arm, that pretty little face of hers tightened up in a wince before she opens her eyes and looks at me again, this time with eyes wide in fear.

"Oh..." Now I feel bad. I didn't want to hurt her, but she clubbed me in the face with a rock. What else did she expect me to do? "...hey Lil Hen. I'm sorry."

As I move closer she shrinks away, or at least she try's to. The spot she landed after I threw her by her leg has put her with a tree to her back and a thorny bush to her right with me approaching from the front left. So that only leaves her the option of trying to make herself smaller, and plead with me. "D-Dun-c-an p-ple-ease... nh" A small whimpering sound finishing her sentence when I kneel down in front of her.

"Hey, Shh, it's okay." She flinches up, her body shaking in what is obviously more than cold and exhaustion as my hand reaches out to brush the sticking hairs out of her eyes. "I didn't want to do that..." bringing my hand back up I wipe some of the blood off my cheek, smearing it back toward my ear. "...but you can't do that to a man and not expect him to get a little upset, understand?"

Her response is a quick and sharp nod, as well as a groan in pain from doing so. The blood loss has no doubt given her quite the headache and shaking her head like that might as well have been a jackhammer to her nerves. That's okay, she won't be awake that much longer. I have something that will make sure she sleeps soundly and without pain.

* * *

I can hear him shift his weight, moving a little closer to me as the throbbing in my skull recedes to a tolerable level. I have one thought in my head. ___This is wrong._

Duncan wasn't like this before. He never hurt me before, even when I made him angry back in that room Duncan didn't hurt me. Though I didn't hit him with a rock then, so in a way I can't be sure. But this still doesn't seem right, Duncan doesn't seem like Duncan.

I stop thinking about it though when my eyes not his hand in his pocket, and the words that leave his mouth. "Now this will make you feel better okay?"

I figured that would make her nervous. I didn't think it would make her try and crawl through a bush of thorns though. When she heard those words she tried to escape by following the side of the tree that the bush was against, taking advantage of the inch or two that that thorns weren't thick in. I didn't let her though.

There wasn't a whole lot of thought behind her action, just the need to escape. That made it fairly easy to stop. As she tried to move away I just wrapped my unoccupied arm around her neck, taking care not to choke her, and pulled her back against me.

"Relax Little Hen..." I try to reassure her as I continue pulling the tranquilizer dart out of its case. She of course is having none of it and is struggling against me, trying to loosen my arm from its hold. She's too weak to do it though. Exhaustion, blood loss and a general lack of muscle mass are working against her. "It's only going to help you sleep. It won't hurt for more than a second."

* * *

"No!" I try and pull his arm further down, but he doesn't let me. I think he knows what I want to do. If I can get it an inch or two lower below my chin I could get my teeth into his skin and make him let go. But he is stronger than me and isn't giving me the chance.

I even try to get my feet under me and make myself stand, but I don't succeed at that either. His weight and his strength proving greater than my efforts.

My pleading only gets worse when I see him bringing what is clearly a dart from a dart gun up to his mouth and using his teeth to remove the rubbed cap from it. "NO! Duncan! No! I need to help Clin-NGH!"

* * *

She whimpers in pain as the needle drives into the hollow of her neck, a small choked sound at the end of that dying bastard's name. It pisses me off a little that she is still thinking about him. It makes me feel bad too. ___I really don't want to hurt her, she is a very nice girl after all._

Tossing the dart aside I bring back the hand that had been holding it and wipe away the small beading drop of blood that escaped when I removed the needle from her skin."Shh, it's okay Lil Hen." I even try to rub away whatever pain there might be there, massaging the spot lightly. "I'm going to make sure you're taken care of. Don't worry about him. He isn't going to live anyways, I made sure."

* * *

I can't breath, but it isn't because he has an arm around my throat. It's the words, its realization. ___It! Was! DUNCAN?!_

It was a bullet ripping through his leg, it tore through the flesh, and I had to make him scream in pain because ___it was Duncan._

It was a bullet in his side, and his shirt forced into the hole soaking up blood as it tried to leave his body. I had to promise that I would make him feel agony because ___it was Duncan._

It was a hole in his chest, slowly filling up with blood and air, as he let himself drown in his own body without telling me just so he wouldn't worry me, ___because it was Duncan._

I can feel the anger in me building. The kind of anger that burns, that you can feel in your chest. It makes it hard to breath. It makes you itch, it's so strong you can feel it psychically.

It was me crying and begging and screaming. It was me afraid. It was in pain.

I'm not frozen in shock anymore. I'm livid. I'm reaching behind me trying to rip off his flesh. Trying to get a hold of anything I can reach whether it be his hair, his skin, even his eyes. I don't just want to hurt him, I want to kill him, I want him to make him suffer.

___He tried to take what was mine!_ Now he is screaming.

* * *

It felt like fire. But that's not even close to the right word. It felt like something in my skin. Like acid, or bugs. I felt it, first in her skin. It felt like it was getting warmer is she struggled and screamed. But then it was moving, and I could feel this itching in the broken skin where she hit me.

The itching got worse. It turned to pain. It turned into a thing I have no name for. It was spreading under my skin, I could feel it in my face, by my eyes, down my neck even. It was moving into my chest, and down my arms.

I couldn't get it out of me. Even when I let go I still felt it. I could feel it doing something to my skin, I could feel masses and texture that shouldn't have been there. Even when I fell I didn't stop trying to get it off me. Now she is above me, something brown and large in her hand.

* * *

His face is nothing but a bloody mess by the time I stop bringing the branch down over and over onto his still form. I only stopped because I couldn't hold it anymore. I can't feel my hands, or for that matter my arms. Everything is just so heavy, and I'm so tired.

___But I need to get to Clint..._ I don't even know if I stood up. I just know that I needed to get to Clint. But now I'm cold again.

* * *

Her body was easy to catch. After having been through so much I saw no need to let herself injure her body further as she crumbled unconscious toward the earth. When she toppled to the side I just knelt down next to her and hooked my arm around her back while the other slid behind her legs to lift her free of him.

A small sound leaves her as I do so, little more than a quiet moan. I doubt though it is because she is aware of what it happening. It is likely only a reaction to the pain and the cool touch of my hands. "Shh now Arnora, you've done well, rest now. It is all right."

She gives me cause to smile, both because of the use of magic I can still sense lingering like a thin mist in the air, but also because in the tiniest of voices, one so small I don't so much hear it is I see it on her lips, she says ___my_ name.

Then my attention is diverted. The voice of another draws it away from her, though I do not mind. It is the doctor that I had tending my assassin and my scientist. "What do you want us to do with these two sir?" He asks, those now phosphorescent eyes patiently waiting for my answers.

"Collect Agent Barton. He looks in need of your attentions. I am not done with him yet."

His response is a quick yes sir before he motions some mercenaries forward and orders them to take him to the truck, and to be careful with him. Then his attention is back on me, "And what about him sir?"

This time I pause for a moment, looking over the man he is referring to so casually. This man was his partner, his friend, his fellow spy. He did do his job marvelously. However, I have no need of him anymore.

I had one task in mind for him and he has completed it. Quite well I might add, if what she has done to his flesh is any indicator.

I don't even need to set down the woman in my arms, it only takes a small wave of my hand to remove the illusion I had cast over his eyes to hide the glow of the Tesseracts in them, the once brown shade I wanted her to see now becoming that gleaming blue of those I control.

"Leave him. I'm sure someone will stumble along soon. We should not be here when they do."

* * *

So how many people were expecting that? Anyone? Is Duncan still the worst person in the world? Or have your opinions on him changed? Leave a review please. I have also updated the Photobucket.


	60. Day 7: part 22

Marvel is still not mine. Nora, and assorted company are.

Here is some Fury for you. Enjoy.

* * *

"We sent in those forces Director Fury, because we could not afford to wait." Sighing I rub my temples a little silently wishing these people were here in the room and not just on my screens, so I could beat some sense into them just a little. "No, what you did was send a bunch of under trained uninformed small town COPS in after a terrorist with the power of a nuclear bomb."

___Oh, look at that, silence._ The councilors suddenly don't seem to have anything to say, but that is okay because I am pissed off enough to fill the silence for them. "I have a report here..." I say to the faces staring back at me from their nice comfy chairs at their desks. "...let me tell you what's on it."

Looking down at the paper I began to read whether they want me to or not. Even if they do express an opinion I'm still gonna read it. "Two hours ago in Carmel Indiana, nice little town, you might remember it since it WAS one of the places throughout the country we were building a S.H.I.E.L.D base in to increase our overall response time. Well don't worry, we won't be wasting any more money on that one since the theater above it just dropped fifty feet straight into the ground..."

"Director Fu..." The accent makes it the Asian councilmen this time, but his voice cuts off is my hand comes up. "I'm not finished Councilor. Please hold that thought."

"...and apparently landed on what is still only an estimate, 67% of the local law enforcement in the area as well as 12% of the National Guard stationed out there. But they should be fine without this, it's a nice town after all..."

"Di..." This time when one of them tries to interrupt me my gaze shot back to those screens and the look in my eye silences them. "I'm still not done."

"...unless of course you count the small parking lot killing spree at a Domino's pizza, and we're still waiting to see if it is only five dead soldiers, because one is in so many pieces they have to put him back together and run DNA just to be sure. Now I'm done."

My gaze has time to drift to each and every one of them, and it is not a surprise that they have nothing to say about the massive mess they just threw in my lap by trying to do my job for me.

"Well now that all that is taken care of, I hope you don't mind. But I'm kinda busy and would like to get back to work?" That wasn't really a question so much as me filling the time it took me to find the button I needed to kick them off my screen and let the privacy monitors drop back into the floor.

It doesn't even drop half way, and I already see a bit of brighter news coming my way. "Coulson, what do we have?" I don't need to tell him I only want the good news, only that which we can actually do something with.

"We confirmed it sir. They were there." He says, starting a list of information I can use as I take off in the direction of the medical ward.

"Satellite footage places three figures leaving the Palladium before the building was successfully locked down." That isn't anything I couldn't of guessed, it is Barton we are dealing with after all. He would know exactly how long it would take us to break through his security.

"They crossed south Rangeline Rd heading east and entered a residential area, making use of the trees for cover." That also isn't terribly surprising but it at least gives us a direction to look in. If he was heading east he would have had a particular destination in mind and I'm sure I'll be informed of that soon as well.

"Something seems to have happened though..." I am still continuing on my journey, but I stop long enough to let the machine verify my prints and retinal scan while he continues. "The images are blurry, but Agent Sitwell cleaned it up enough to confirm that it was a woman who ran out of the trees."

I don't need to ask if it was her, he just nods to the question in my expression. "The hair color and profile look like hers sir, also the confrontation that left those soldiers dead seemed to have involved the woman, as well as an additional male figure with clear signs of extensive martial arts training."

The door hisses open and we continue on, my mind working over this information. If she ran back toward where Loki was that is not a good sign for her. But my other question and hope is that Barton seemed to be running away. I don't plan on counting on hope too much though, not until I can get more proof.

"He put her in the Humvee before he..." Coulson pauses there for a second which draws my gaze to him in confusion, prompting him to continue. "...gave one of them additional attention before taking the Humvee." That would be the reason one of them was in pieces even if it doesn't cover his reason behind it.

"They took Rangeline Rd south to east 116th before turning south again onto Eller road. The satellite lost the vehicle in the cover of the trees, but they seem to have abandoned it in the Fishers Heritage Park on the White River." That is also something Barton, or any agent of ours would definitely do. Running around in an army Humvee would only attract unwanted attention after all.

"Given the proximity to the park he must have been planning on borrowing a plane." The tense he is using does not slip my notice. "I take it he didn't?"

He just shakes his head. "No sir. There were no reports of activity at the airport in that time period and the satellite have no footage of activity either."

He isn't finished though. "It did however pick up several vehicles pulling into a field and going dark only to turn their lights back on later. We tracked them, but lost them after a few miles."

"You lost them?!" That makes me stop. I didn't want bad news. He stops too, offering me a small apologetic look that is just as frustrated as mine. "Yes sir. They took the 106 East for exactly five miles, then they just stopped showing up in the picture. There was nowhere they could have pulled off or switched vehicles. They just vanished, and we haven't seen them reemerge since."

"Well let me know if they do." He nods a yes sir, but it's really not that important, even if they do we both know the cube or Loki won't be there. We might get lucky and find the driver knows something and that would be about all we might get from that venue. However, we do have another.

The MI-6 spy. We found him surrounded by two small lakes of blood, most of which was not his own and has been confirmed as Barton's and the woman we took to calling Nora.

We also noticed right away that he wasn't one of ours anymore. Loki had turned him, though for what purpose we don't really know since at the moment he still isn't conscious. We aren't really sure what he is either.

His condition has got to be one of the strangest I have ever seen or heard of. When we took him into our custody we made quick work of getting his medical records, but they don't explain any of it.

Some time in the last eight days this man seems to have somehow developed stage two skin cancer across his face as well as most of his left side well at the same time that same general region seems to have become twice as old as the rest of him.

According to the doctors trying to keep him alive to talk to us there is some sort of strange energy they can't identify lingering in him. There only guess is that something happened or was done to him making the cells grow so rapidly that they are literally destroying themselves before they can create more. That however isn't even the weirdest part.

Not only has he started aging at fast forward, it is also slowing down and seems to be trying to undo this unnatural aging process. His cancer is healing too even as it tries to spread. The energy in his body is destroying his tissue but trying to repair it at the same time.

This man is our only source of real information at this point though, and it is where we are now. Through the window outside of surgery I can see the doctors working on him, doing their best to figure out how to treat this as well as collecting samples to figure what this is.

I don't turn to Coulson, my gaze still directed toward the room. "I want Romanoff on this one." But I don't have to look to see the surprise in his eyes at that. We've been keeping 'her' situation a secret, but once she is back here it won't matter. Natasha will know she isn't here the second she arrives, if she didn't already figure it out during the phone call that finally made her come back in. "We need to know what he knows. Make it happen."

* * *

Yes... Duncan is still alive, cause I still have a purpose for him. Take heart though, his life sucks. Another picture of what Nora did to him is going up, and if anyone doesn't understand what exactly Nora did to him I can explain it a bit better if you need me to.

Now this is the part where you leave a review.


	61. Day 7: part 23

I still have no ownership whatsoever over Marvel, but Nora and company remain mine. Now on with the reading of things.

* * *

I find it necessary to replace the water yet again. Her injuries, well not overly serious in nature, were still extensive. Letting one of the unoccupied scientists take the bowl of bloody water away I switch back to using the one I have dissolved the stones in.

Since I carried her into the moving metal container and laid her on a small bench out of the way I have been carefully tending to her broken skin, taking care not to disturb the IV in her arm. I could accomplish my task with the use of the stones alone, removing the foreign objects embedded in her skin and healing the injuries all at once, but I would rather not waste their magic on dissolving tiny fragments of wood and glass.

Instead I have been carefully removing them, as well as cleaning the blood and filth from her skin with one bowl of water, then using the other to wipe away her wounds.

So far I have the cuts and bruises that had taken up residence on her legs, the pieces of wood and glass that were embedded in her skin, and the bloodstained portrait that had become her face. Now I am at the cause of that, the edge of the first bite wound appearing from beneath the dried dark blood caked over her arm.

It explains much to me, just seeing that. She used her blood to heal the one, then harm the other. She used blood magic. ___How very resourceful of you my dear, and stupid._Though I will give her the credit that she likely has no idea how dangerous what she did was.

Channeling the magic in that way is very risky, even to those who have mastered the art of wielding it. While it is a very potent energy is it is also extremely temperamental, and very hard to control. It's a raw and wild and fierce kind of power, and it is not unheard of for it overwhelm a person.

There have been incidents where someone becomes almost intoxicated by the power they are wielding and don't realize that they are dying because of it.

It is a primitive form of magic use, born out of emotion and need. Those who truly wield magick, who know how to harness it, they never do this. ___She has no control yet._

That brings a grin to my features. Her magick woke up because she needed it to, but she hadn't remembered how to wield it. Her magick is still raw and wild just like I want it to be.

I have spent seven days working toward this goal. Giving my time and thoughts to this lovely little Vanir woman, just for this.

Everything I have done, everything I have allowed up to this point is finally producing the results I craved.

Sending her 'brother', her dear agent Barton to capture her was deliberate. I wanted her to doubt him, to doubt those bonds she formed. He was the perfect tool to plant that seed.

I wanted him to make it clear he took her. I wanted S.H.I.E.L.D to turn on her and deny her the safety of their protection, and they did.

I wanted to instill a sense of fear in her of me, to make her realize the wisdom of doing as I wished her too.

I wanted her to learn that I would be the one to provide for her, that only through me would her needs be met.

I wanted her to see I could be generous, and would be if she had the sense to behave.

I wanted to give her a companion, and when that fool of a man tried to touch her he became such a companion. His purpose was to befriend her, only to turn on her and betray her later so would she would know that no one was safe to trust anymore.

I wanted her to have a sense of hope, and let her see her 'brothers' eyes in him for a moment. I knew my control of him was slowly fading and I let it happen because it suited my purposes.

I wanted to show her there was compassion in me as well, to slowly convince her that I was not as wicked as I seemed.

I gave her the illusion that her wishes mattered to me. I did it most effectively when I gave her the lives of her friends. She thought I spared them from a slow death of starvation and exhaustion when in truth I never intended to waste them in such a way.

I deliberately created doubt within her, forcing her to question the reality she thought she existed in and wonder if it was a lie, and with only my alternative to grab on to.

I gave her gentle touches and looks to encourage a belief within her heart, one I plan to use to my advantage.

I wanted her to isolate herself, to turn solely to my company. She did, slowly developing a sense that she was less important than her friends, and in the ridiculous desire to draw my attention away from them.

I wanted to convince her that she had no alternative, no place of safety and comfort more than with myself. I used sweet words and her own emotions to bring her to that state of mind.

I used her friends, her lack of memories, and the reemergence of them as well, all for my purposes.

I used what I knew the reactions of S.H.I.E.L.D would be to force her to turn to me.

It has been seven days of cleverly planned out manipulation on both a psychological and emotional level, but it is finally paying off.

She has nowhere left she can go. I have taken all other avenues from her and left her with only one she could choose, one that leads back to myself. ___All for this... Prize._

There is only one more hurdle that needs to be conquered and the unexpected gift of fate I stumbled on with her presence in my path will finally be mine to wield.

Looking down at her sleeping face once more I let my grin become even larger. **"Very soon my dear Arnora. So very soon."**

* * *

So Loki is clearly not is genuine is he seemed, but I'm sure you suspected that along, because let's be honest here, its Loki. I know, I'm leaving you hanging again on what his ultimate goal is, but don't worry, it will be coming. Until then you have the promise of a Natasha POV coming up to next to keep you satisfied.

As always, leave a review please and thank you.


	62. Day 7: part 24

Still own nothing of Marvels, they just (unknowingly or don't really care) let me play in their world. Nora and Company are still mine though, read on.

* * *

"Nadine Roman?" It's one of the agents of S.H.I.E.L.D that greets me, using my alias for this mission. I don't know why he bothered with it though, any agent in S.H.I.E.L.D knows who I am without question, and my mission under that name is officially over, courtesy of an unappreciated phone call about my partner.

I don't ponder that though, I have bigger concerns on my mind than what my alias is today, some very much bigger. It's not important enough to think about now, or stop my feet. That is something I will worry about when and if the situation actually occurs. I don't plan to let it reach that point.

The fact that I just walk past him without stopping seems to throw him off a little for a second, but only a second. Then he is right in step with me again, pausing only to scoop up the briefcase that had been next to him.

I am just trying to get through all of this, so I can get to what I really care about, and who. My feet carry me right up to the front desk where we pause only to show them the documentation that will get us past all of the security check points, allowing us to leave the lobby and enter the actual part of the airport that will lead us to our plane.

His fumbling attempt to do that is met with almost no reaction when he hands it to the clerk. Mine is not so overlooked.

I can see the security guard next to me tense up as my hand finds the edge of my skirt and lifts it up, revealing the edges of a holster. But this holster is only designed to hold something thin and rectangular, in this particular case my most recent proof of a fake identity. I even remove it completely from my thigh for them, letting my foot fall back down from the front of the desk as I shove it at the flustered looking woman, not at all concerned with how she seems to be embarrassed for me.

The tense state of the security guards turns to amusement at my actions as they contemplate a certain level of predictable fantasies, then disappointment when they realize the level of authority 'Deputy Consul-General Nadine Roman' commands. They even salute me and apologize for the inconvenience as they let us through, giving me back my documents which are quickly passed off to the agent, as well as sending one of the guards to make sure we have no further delay.

"Miss Roman, ..." He continues to use the alias since we are still in view of the public, as well as English because of the man walking with us. "...Agent Blake." I can hear in his tone that he expects some sort of acknowledgment from me and that inspires me to glance at him out of the corner of my eye as I continue walking into the airport.

I have never worked with this one, but looking him over I can see rather clearly why that is. It isn't that I don't recognize him, with his short gray hair or serious face. I know who he is, his face is familiar to me. It's just that he clearly isn't a field agent.

He isn't doing anything overtly obvious to give himself away, but it is still clear that he is a foreign entity in this environment. If he was out here on an assignment he would have blown his cover by now, just by the cocoon of a jacket he is in.

I am aware that being in Russia it is understandably colder than he is probably used to, but the outerwear he chose is heavily padded, hangs down past his knees, and is buttoned up tightly around his neck

I on the other hand am still only wearing my black cocktail dress, tights, and a pair of heels.

I'm also not in the mood for any level of pretense right now. My mood is focused and determined as well as a little livid.

I can hear him continuing to speak, telling me details that he can get away with in the presence of our escort like our destination and that forces will be waiting there to assist 'us' in our mission like he will actually be participating in it with me. I don't care about any of that.

"Give me your phone." My tone isn't harsh, but it is still cool and crisp, just like my walk toward the section of the airport I already know we will be departing from.

His response is professional and also immediately annoying. One look at his face tells me that what is about to leave him is going to be full of protocol and transparent pretense I have no time for. It annoys me so much that he would even think he could get away with it that I don't let him finish. "Yes ma'am, of course. I have a briefing package already prepared f...ahh hey!"

The purposeful clipped sound of my walk ceases for a second and becomes more of a scraping sound as I spin around, letting my heels grate over the floor.

The sudden shift startles him a little as well as our escort, and I can even tell that it has made him slightly nervous. The knowledge of my abilities being the cause of his distress when I step back toward him. The escort however is only curious.

The blush that I can see creeping into his skin though at what I do now proves though that while agent Blake may know some things he clearly doesn't know enough.

Stepping a little closer I meet his pale green tinted eyes with my vibrant ones, a soft sort of barely there smile tugging at the edges of my lips as I let one hand rest against his shoulder and urge him backwards into the hallway wall on unsteady feet.

"M-Miss Roma..." That blush of his is growing even more as he struggles to figure out what to do, and fails. "Shh." I hush him gently, still looking at him with warm eyes.

I can feel his heart pounding under my palm as the other hand slips down his side, and into the pocket holding 'his' phone. Not the one with the firewalls he planned to give me. Clearly this is one of the agents that follows in Hill's footsteps and follows the protocol no matter how foolish or unnecessary. They are no less effective agents because of it, however there is a difference between being effective and good.

I can see the realization of what he perceives is a failure on his part cross his eyes, and the intent to let it become words, at least until mine comes out first. "Zatknis I stoyat' v ugol kak khorosho mal'chik.." It comes out with an almost hiss, making it quite clear what he shouldn't be doing anymore. It also draws a hearty laugh from the man walking with us, the insult and the general lack of respect I have for him made all the more apparent by the fact they both understand what I said.

I knew when Coulson called me and informed me about Clint that something was wrong. In my business the absence of information is just as important as what you know. I noticed something important missing in that phone call, something I couldn't hear. This fool only confirmed it when he tried to give me a device with someone else's predetermined amount of information that I would need to know. I work for S.H.I.E.L.D, I am not some visiting outsider here on a diplomatic exchange to promote inter-agency cooperation. His actions are just insulting.

It doesn't take me very long to find her face on the screen, and when I do I let my eyes close in a sigh, almost wishing my suspicions had not been confirmed. That her face was not printed on that poster with his.

* * *

It was intuition that told me whose name to say when I saw that number pop up on my phone. I knew this call would be coming soon after all, I would even say I expected it sooner. I knew this call would be coming, that she wouldn't remain in the dark, and that thinking she would was a foolish delusion on anyone's part.

My hand doesn't even get the chance to pull away from tapping the headset in my ear before her voice is in it. "You're missing the sounds of a little bird Coulson." It's an unusual statement, but not to me.

Nora, given her conditions, was the kind of woman, that if she formed a bond of friendship with you it would without question be a deep and unshakable one. It is because of that when Natasha was sent under cover in Stark Industries and the chaos that followed in that assignment that I had a concerned Nora at my back, frequently I might add, asking me to make sure Natasha was alright when she reported in.

It even became necessary for Barton to remind her that Natasha was a very capable agent and she would be fine, and that pestering her boss, no matter how justified her concerns were, was not the best idea.

There is no little concerned voice behind me now, asking to speak with her to make sure she is okay and tearfully telling her something happened to Barton. We both know if Nora was here, there is no way she would not be next to me now, demanding to hear Natasha's voice, just so she could have some sense of reassurance.

"Her current location and condition is unknown, but the last confirmed sighting of her placed her in the company of Barton and she was alive. Her current state of loyalty is also still unconfirmed" I don't bother lying to her about this. There would be no point and I don't particularly crave the pain she would potentially inflict on me if I did. "But we have something you will be interested in when you return."

There isn't even a pause in her next demand. "Send me everything Coulson." There isn't one in mine either. "Of course."

"And the White Knight?" That makes me pause, a small frustrated smirk flashing over my features for a second. After Barton gave Nora a designation based off the characters of Lewis Carroll all those that are connected with her have been given similar designations when she is the topic of discussion, the Captain included.

"He won't be rescuing Alice this time..." I may regret this part because I'm sure it will reach Fury soon, in a fiery storm, but I say it anyway, because if I don't it will be worse. "...by order of the Red King."

* * *

Hanging up the phone I don't bother returning it to the miffed S.H.I.E.L.D agent at my side, it instead takes up temporary residence in my bra until Coulson makes good on his promise of getting me the information I asked for.

This only annoys him even more, much to the amusement of a member of airport security leading us to the small plane waiting to bring us to Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose International Airport.

I don't even bother apologizing for it, in fact I almost ignore his existence entirely at this point, instead nodding to the guard that I am ready to continue now that my business on the phone has been temporarily concluded. That is until he speaks.

"I understand 'Miss Roman'..." Again he uses that alias, but this time he not only uses it condescendingly, but also makes no attempt to cover it. A bold and foolish decision."...that working in proximity with that woman may have led to a certain level of attachment, but I thought you were more professional than this." ___Or just foolish._

There has always been an interesting sort of dynamic surrounding how people interact with Nora. Now the majority of personnel at S.H.I.E.L.D are aware that she has always been different. Whether the level with which they thought she was different was limited to her having amnesia and a phobia of touch, or an entirely different genetic code than the rest of us was an issue of one's clearance level, but everyone knew she was different.

They were all generally polite and kind to her because Nora has always been that way in return, polite and kind to people. Whether they were counted as a friend or not.

However those that did know, even while being polite and kind to her, also made a point to maintain a professionally distant relationship with her.

This created an interesting sort of situation for her, and a somewhat disheartening one to watch. Nora has always been very sweet, and she would never complain about it, but she knew. She could see it in their eyes and hear it in their whispered words, that she was something strange and unusual to them. But she never really understood why.

Many of those people only saw her is some sort of object. She was a foreign entity existing among us in blissful ignorance until her potential was realized, and then she would be a tool. She wasn't a person, she was a thing. Now these people want her to be expendable, people like him.

My steps turn me back around, but they don't carry me back toward him. I just stand there looking at him calmly before I decide to speak. "I also understand something Agent Blake. This is going to be a six and a half hour flight aboard a small private plane with only you, myself and the pilots on it." Now my expression isn't so much calm as it is cold and promising. "Think about that before you speak again."

* * *

So there is chapter 62, and if anyone was wondering what Natasha says to Agent Blake (yes, he is the one from the Marvel short, Item 47) it is this.

* * *

How its spelled in Russian.

Закрытый и стенд в углу как хороший мальчик.

What it would sound like phonetically according to Google.

Zatknis I stoyat' v ugol kak khorosho mal'chik.

What it translates to in English.

Shut up and stand in the corner like a good boy.

* * *

So now that we officially embarrassed an Agent, and made Natasha want to kick his ass, please leave a review


	63. Day 7: part 25

Yet another chapter. Marvel is still not mine in any way, shape, or form. Nora, and the Company of people and creatures that follow her around though are.

* * *

"...Nora..." The words are strained and raspy, but I make myself say them. I'd be yelling them if my chest didn't still hurt so much. I need her to wake up. She has to wake up. ___Please let her wake up._ I haven't seen her move since they put us in here, and it's starting to scare me.

I remember hearing her voice. She was screaming at God! She was making demands of heaven, and it was for me. It was like listening to a distorted record underwater, but I could hear her. I just couldn't open my eyes, or say anything. My body was shutting down but my mind was still running.

Then everything was warm. It was so warm. It wasn't like a burning heat. It was calm and gentle. It felt like the sun does when you lay in its light. It even had a pulse to it. It was spreading from something resting against my chest, but I couldn't see it.

I tried so hard to stay awake, but whatever it was succeeded in dragging consciousness away from me, soothing me to sleep with gentle force.

When I woke back up, it was in pain and paralysis. It was fire this time. My nerves were screaming at me, but I couldn't do anything about it. They had me strapped down to a table and that blonde man from before was cutting a hole between my ribs and forcing something in it. There was a curtain around us, but there was a small gap in it, and through it I could see a woman's hand, it was dripping with blood.

They didn't sedate me to knock me back out, one of them hit me in the head with his gun. ___I can kind of remember his face, I'm gonna show him why that was a mistake later._

When I woke back up again I saw her, not just a glimpse but all of her. She wasn't bloody anymore. But she wasn't in the dress I left her in, she was in a lab coat, unconscious, and being carried by him. Loki had her in his arms, and she wasn't moving. She wasn't even making a sound. ___She looked so pale._

___She still looks so pale._ But I saw a reason to have faith she is alive. They had an IV in her, they don't put those in corpses. They don't need them.

They put us in a little room for now, with nothing really in it but some drainage pipes. They have me chained to one, the handcuffs being makeshift ones that go around the pipe to each wrist. They are actually just a long heavy chain wrapped tight around each wrist and secured by a padlock. Apparently they are aware I can get out of the cuffs.

Her they were gentler with. I had the privilege of watching Loki treat her like the princess she is. He had a smirk on his face the whole time, knowing how much I hated the sight of him touching her skin. He laid her gently down on a folded blanket, even taking the time to cross her arms and adjust her clothes.

They left us here, no doubt until Loki can figure out how he wants to kill and torture me for trying to take her away from him. But I don't care about that. The whole time we've been in here, since he oh gently rested her body on that blanket on the floor she hasn't moved.

"Come on Nora, wake up Princess. Don't do this to me." My wrists are going to start bleeding sooner or later, my body stubbornly ignoring the law that says the flesh is weaker than metal. "Open your eyes Nora. Come on, give me something Princess, please..."

* * *

There is a sound. It's like a buzzing hum in the back of my head, and I think it's important. But I don't know why.

I just know that it's cold, and heavy, and tiring. I don't want to be cold or heavy. The other place was warm. It was soft and quiet and peaceful there, even if it was dark. I want to go back to the dark. But the buzzing hum won't let me. It's like a hook in my mind, and it's pulling me where I don't want to go.

"...N..a...", "..me o. .or., wa.. up Pri...s. Do.. do .hi. to m..", "Ope. .u ey.. Nor.. .ome o., ..ve m. som...ng .rinces., ple... Nora"

The hum is sounds now. The sounds are broken words now. The words have a name in them. It's my name. ___It's a voice that I know._ "...Ngh..." It's my voice now, and the pain in my head, because I have one again.

I startled a little away from the cold touch at first which only made the throbbing in my skull even worse before I came to the realization the touch was mine.

But then I forgot all about the compressed pain trying to expand out further than the bone would let it. I forgot because of something else making its way in, a voice that I know, with my name in it.

___Clint?! It's really Clint!_ My head turned, perhaps still a little too quickly, but none of that mattered when my eyes landed on him. Clint is awake, he is here, he didn't leave me."Y-You came back..."

I can see the confusion in his eyes at those words, but only for a split second. That's because it was only a split second before my body was moving, and I was almost tackling him back with the force of my hug.

The next split second is the opposite though. I'm jerking away, prompted by his sharp gasp "Nora... ah..." and offering up a quick sharp "I'm sorry!" I didn't mean to hurt him, I didn't even think about the fact he was injured, I was just happy he was here again.

"It's okay kiddo..." He says back, a bit of a breathless sound invading his voice as he forces a smile for my benefit, and a light joking tone. "You know I'd never turn down a hug from you. You just gotta watch my side."

I can see them now, his injuries. But they're different than before, and better. I can see the bullet hole in his chest, only it isn't a hole anymore. It's not oozing and hissing with red foam anymore. It's a pink flesh and a small indented dip.

The wound lower down his torso is better too. It's not a stream of blood. It too is the sight of newly grown pink flesh. I can even see his leg. They cut off a section of his pant leg off, exposing where that bullet hit him. It's the same, not completely finished healing, but enough so that I can still call it healed. "I did it..."

My words have nothing but blind joy and relief in them, but to Clint there is only confusion. "Did what Nora?"

* * *

My confusion over her words only seems to create more. A look of her own confusion spreads over her face, but before it is even settled in it is already transforming to a look of excited wonder. "I-I I did it Clint. I did it."

It still doesn't make any sense. She is grinning and chuckling just I bit under her breath and looking at her hands is she says this, but I still have no idea what she means."Nora? I don't understand, you did what Princess?"

Those eyes of hers finally settle down from their flitting around and meet mine, the smile softer now on her face as she shows me her hands. "I... I healed you Clint." ___Her hands, the soft palms of her little hands, and now they are decorated with thin silver scars..._

* * *

"Nora..." The look in his eyes isn't happy or excited. It's concerned, confused and a little sad "...Oh god, your hands Princess, ..." and now just angry. "...who did that to you?"

The look of anger doesn't leave his eyes when I shake my head softly back at him. He doesn't understand, but I can't really blame him. If I hadn't done it, if I hadn't seen it, I wouldn't understand either, I wouldn't believe it.

But I did do it and I do believe. I healed him, I saved his life. I did it with tears, and blood, and a knife. These scars may upset him, but I love them, because without them I wouldn't have him anymore. ___He is worth it, that pain, he is worth more._ "I did, I did it Clint."

This time I can add horror to the list of emotions in his eyes, horror and disbelief. He hates the idea of me doing something like that to myself. Clint has always been the one to take the pain for me. If ever I was in a situation that required someone to get hurt, Clint always stepped in to give or receive it before I could ever have a chance.

Now he thinks he failed me, because I just told him that hurt myself for him. He hates it, he hates himself for it. I can see it, he blames himself because he thinks it was his fault that I had to make that choice in the first place. He even says is much out loud. "Oh Nora, Princess why?!"

But I don't get the chance to answer. The sound of a door and footsteps cut the will to from my throat. His voice is the one that says what I should be. It says it with spite."Why to save your worthless life was it not Arnora?"

* * *

As I usually request, please leave a review. The next chapter will be Loki's reaction, is well is reactions to Loki.


	64. Day 7: part 26

I still am the proud owner of NOT MARVEL. But I do have Nora, in all her 'Oh wow'ness to make up for it. Oh yeah, and the company that tags along behind her.

* * *

"Why, to save your worthless life was it not Arnora?" Those words changed everything. They were just words, just sequences of sound, but in his voice they had the power to change everything. So that's what they did.

Clint's guilt ridden concern for me is replaced by a look of anxious rage, his eyes unable to stay still between us as the sound of him straining against those bonds becomes something in my ears.

It changes me too. That gentle warmth I felt because I healed Clint is now burning away in fear for the same reason. I healed Clint, and in Loki's eyes all I can I see is the promise of suffering. ___Not for me._

My legs should have been able to hold me, but they fail at that. I tried to stand up, only for my vision to end up swaying violently, and the few inches I gained are given back to the ground.

However, my attempt still seems to have some success. Both of them react with concern. But as Clint is still chained to a pipe his concern is only the sound of my name, while Loki's is also a touch.

I can feel the cool skin of his palms encircle my upper arms as he uses his strength to help give me what I clearly wanted, the ability to stand. Even with his hands steadying me though I still find the need to cling to his shoulders, one hand feeling the cold metal while the other grips stiff leather.

"Lo..." the almost whisper of his name from me isn't allowed to complete, finished instead by his voice hushing mine. "Shh, Arnora, ..."

I can feel his hands shifting their places as he does so. One leaving my arm first to wrap around my waist, supporting my stance that way now, the other moving to take a place under my chin so he can tilt my face to his. "...you are still weak my dear. You should not strain yourself so." Those words were spoken so close I can feel the breath of them on my face.

* * *

I couldn't stay quiet anymore. Not seeing her look so frail and helpless ___in his hands._ She was on her feet, but they weren't what was holding her up. If he let go she might only stay on them a second or two by her own strength.

She is weak and dizzy because she lost blood. I don't know how much, but it's clear as day to me it was too much. She was fine, or at least better before because she wasn't standing. She probably shouldn't even be awake right now, it would be better for her to be sleeping. But I woke her up, and feel bad for doing that now.

That however is overridden by the sight that is making me speak and draw attention to myself. My voice low and calm but filled with fury. "Get your filthy hands off her."Inspired by the sight of him so close to her face he looked like he was going to kiss her.

Those eyes of his are on mine now, full of amused annoyance at my interruption. Not that I care. I'm an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D, I can guess what's coming, and he just needs to get it over with. I failed, I can accept that and the consequences of it. He should just get it over with, for her. ___Just do it you bastard and be done with it. She doesn't need to suffer like this._

But he just keeps talking. "Ah yes, Agent Barton..." I somehow forgot for a moment how much this jackass likes the sound of his own voice, or maybe I just repressed it, but I remember now. I don't mind though, because I want his attention on me and not her. "How nice of you to join the conversation." I want the exact opposite of what she wants, and I'm not sorry if that upsets her. ___It's okay Princess, you don't need to protect me. I won't let you do it._

I knew what she was doing, it wasn't hard to figure out. Anyone could see what she was trying to do. She's drawing his attention away from me, trying to and keep me safe. She's being brave and strong, for my sake. It makes me proud of her, but so mad too. ___You need to stop being selfless Nora. You need to stop, now._ I'm not someone you sacrifice yourself for, that's not who I am.

She see's what I'm doing too. She makes it clear when her little voice comes out in a plea. "Loki, no..." that he mocks her for. "Shh, now darling. We are talking, the agent and I. You should not interrupt."

* * *

Before I can answer I find myself busy with the fact that the world is spinning, or more correctly I just was. Loki spun me around like a dancer, and before gravity could claim hold of me his arm wound its way back around my waist. The other however has assumed a different location the before, and one I am resistant to. "I believe the topic was about hands, was it not?"

His fingers have woven between mine and twisted around them to the side, locking each one except for the thumb into an upright position. He is refusing me the chance to close my hand back up into a fist, to hide the sight of my palm from Clint's sight, the very ones I wanted him to see not long ago. Not even the efforts of my other hand are strong enough to break my hand free of his. "Shall I show you, Agent Barton, what she did to her lovely skin for your sake, with your own knife?!"

The next shift happens just as quickly. With his arm around my waist like it is, my body has no choice, but to follow his. My knees are now back on the ground, and my face is once again at the level of Clint's, giving me a clear view of his struggling frustration.

He stops his struggles though quite suddenly, for the same reason I do. Loki's hand resting lightly but dangerously at my throat. "Ah, now that is more like it."

My "L-L-Loki..." comes out the same time as Clint's "Don't hurt her!" and though I can't see it I get the sense that Loki has a small smile on his lips when he responds to both of us now, his face visible to me just out of the side of my vision.

"Be at ease. I have no intention of damaging what is mine." The hand resting against my neck shifts a little, drawing a brief, but shaky gasp. One that was really not needed as all he does is run his thumb lightly against the definition of my jaw. "I only do this to encourage your good behavior."

"Then you have it." Then those eyes of his are meeting mine, and I already know I'm gonna hate what comes next. I'm saying "No!"

"You want my good behavior huh? Then take it."

* * *

I hear her protest, but I don't listen to it, or apologize for it. I know this hurts her, it hurts me too. It's not something I would ever want, but we don't have a choice. It's either this, or let him kill me, and if I'm dead I can't do anything for her. ___Forgive me Princess._I made so many promises to you, I'm gonna keep 'em too, you just need to wait for them a little longer. "It's alright Nora. It's okay..." I can't keep my eyes locked with hers, not seeing how much I am hurting her.

They turn back to him, those calmly curious orbs that I hate so much. I just want him to get it over with. I can't believe myself, but I want that bastard to put that thing back in me. I'm telling him to do it. I beat it once, I'll do it again. "This is my choice."

"You..." I hate his voice too, It's amused and incredulous now as he speaks to me, both of us ignoring her completely. "...would give up your mind, willingly..." now I'm the only one ignoring her as his attention turns a little to her again. That pretty little voice of hers is pleading even more intently for him to give me mercy from something I am asking for. "...for this woman?"

"She's a Princess." That's my answer. That's all there is to it. It's an answer meant entirely for her. It stops her struggle, but not her tears, or her whispering my name.

Then my eyes leave hers, they harden and return to his, with only one thought in my head. ___Hurry up damn you, get it over with already._

I failed her, I failed to get her out of here, but that doesn't mean I'm giving up. I hate this idea, so much. All I wanted to do before was get my body back under my control, to be me again. Now I'm giving that up, for her, for time. I can do it again, I will do it again. I can put up with this hell a little longer if gets me another chance to rescue her. I need to be alive to do that.

This is my choice, those are my reasons. I don't care if he can figure them out. I need to be alive to protect her, even I'm not the one to save her. Even if she never forgives me for this.

There's finally a decision in his eyes. But I'm not sure it's one I want. "She would despise me forever, if I don't allow her now, a chance to say goodbye." ___No, damn you to hell you son of a bitch!_

* * *

I hit him, Loki lets me go and left the room, and I hit him. I meant it too this time. I hit him again. My fists striking against his uninjured shoulder and side while I sobbed and demanded to know "Why?!"

The only answer he gives me is this. "You really shouldn't cry for a killer Nora." It's not an answer at all.

"C-Clint... Why?" I'm not hitting him anymore, but I'm still crying. I have my head resting against his chest, my forehead pressed into his collarbone, and while they are now still my fists are still pressing against his skin.

I can feel him take in a deep breath before releasing it in a deep frustrated sigh. "Well, because I'm an idiot."

That has my head coming up, shaking my refusal of those words, which makes him chuckle. "You never did let me get away with saying that." Then the smirk on his face fades a little, and I can her metal shifting against metal a little. "Damn these fucking chains. I should be holding you for this."

I do it for him. Clint wants to hug me, to hold me and make everything better, but he can't because he is in chains. I'm not. My hands are free, I'm free. I should be the one giving up things, not him. I'm hugging him, trying to breathe past a sorrow so heavy in my chest that it's making it hard to breathe.

"S-S-St-op, st-top sa-avi-ing m-me." It's not a chuckle, or a joke this time. His voice is calm and apologetic. "No, ..." he can't hug me back, but I can feel his chin rest over the curve of my shoulder and a gentle pressure from it against my shoulder blade. "...never. I'll never stop saving you Princess. It's what I do, save my girls."

I don't know if that was meant to be a joke or an attempt to make me feel better, but it barely brushes against the misery in my chest. "I'm sorry, I let you down..." he can feel me shake my head, and I can feel his shoulders shift as he tries again to free his hands, before giving up in frustration. "...I won't do it again."

That has me lifting my head, my eyes now filled with confusion too as they meet his, a small brief smirk tugging at his mouth. "You don't have to forgive me for this okay..."He doesn't give me a chance to say anything, he just smiles a little more when I shake my head, then continues. "... I know this sucks. But I'm going to take a little vacation again. I'm coming back though, okay?"

This time he wants an answer from me, his "Understand?" makes that clear. I nod for him. "Mhhm" That sound being the best thing I can do as far as words go.

"So, god damn me for saying this, you need to stay here." He forces another short smile for my benefit. "You need to stay here, with Loki, so I can find you when I get back. Can you do that? For me?"

The words still don't seem to be in me anymore. Another "Mh" followed by a sniffle is the answer I give him, but it seems to be enough. "You stay and wait for me, or S.H.I.E.L.D okay? You do what he wants, you stay safe? You do that for me now, okay Princess?"

It's just a nod this time. "Good girl, that's my girl." But his next request gets a different nod. "Now get out of here."

The look in his eyes is still full of apology, but it's filled with determination too. "Get out of here Nora, I don't want you to see this."

"No, Clint, I can'..." He doesn't give me a choice. "GET HER OUT OF HERE ALREADY DAMMIT!" His voice raises, now yelling at the people we both suspected didn't go further than outside the door.

* * *

She fought so hard against the blonde man from Britain, but once the door was closed I could hear a lack of struggles almost immediately, not from the door being a barrier to sound, but from her stopping all together.

My attention isn't on her at the moment. It is on the mercenary who is currently unchaining the assassin of S.H.I.E.L.D. Who is rising calmly back to his feet, even with a tub still embedded in his chest and draining into the plastic container strapped to his leg. The illusion on his eyes burning away at last as well as my magic stops supporting it.

"Quite the performer you are Agent Barton, I would even say you exceeded my exceptions just now." My eyes are looking back at the door, but my ears pick up his reaction while I let a smirk dominate me features. "Thank you sir, will there be anything else?"

Shaking away the though I let my gaze drift from the door back to him, watching as he slips back into his shirt and vest, and takes his weapons back from the mercenary. "No, I believe that will do." ___The simplest of deceptions really is the most effective after all it would seem._

* * *

Yeah, I went there. So how many of you saw that one coming, anyone? Loki isn't opposed to multiple uses of the same trick if it works, just ask Thor. Lol. Well, you know what to do.

SEEM TO BE HAVING A PROBLEM WITH 65 SHOWING UP. IF IT CONTINUES I MIGHT POST THE CONTINUING CHAPTERS IS A SEPARATE STORY. SORRY ABOUT THIS. DON'T KNOW WHAT ELSE TO DO.


	65. Day 7: part 27

I'm not sure why it didn't work the first time, so I removed it and posted it again. I hope this time it shows up. Marvel is not mine, Nora is.

* * *

"She hasn't moved sir..." The voice of the doctor speaks, a man I believe is called Terrance, but he doesn't speak to me. His words are for Loki, who has just entered the room. "...not since we put her there."

He isn't lying about that either, not that he would. He is one of Loki's men now after all. But he's right, I haven't moved. I've only been sitting in this corner, with my face hidden behind my knees, letting myself think.

Clint gave up his mind, for me, and I just let him do it. I couldn't stop it. ___How could I let him do that?_ It's not what I wanted. I would have never wanted that. I wanted him to be free, not give his freedom away.

He did it anyway though. He gave himself up, and he didn't even let me try and help him, he took that choice away from me.

He did it to keep me safe, so he could be here to keep me safe. He did it so I wouldn't lose him. But that thing they walked out of that room in his skin, it wasn't him. I lost Clint when that door closed, ___just like I always lose everything._

___My memory, my life, my friends, a baby._ All I do is lose things. Even worse, some I didn't even know I had to begin with.

"Leave us..." But he did. He knew. ___He knows._

* * *

The room is far less hospitable than the one I had her in previously, though it does not need to be said for me to know this matters little to her. She has, as the doctor said, not moved from her spot.

Her little form has been pressed tightly into a corner, with her arms pulling her knees to her chest and her face hidden from my view by their placement. The hardness of the floor, or its sand covered surface doesn't seem to bother her at all. Even the coldness of it means little to her now, despite the effect I can see it has on her bare feet.

Her body doesn't shift, or show a sign of flinching when I take the first step into the room, my heels sounding softly against the floor. There is one small sign though that she has noted my approach. Beyond her encircled arms I can see the shift of her hairline, indicating that her eyes have turned upwards to steal a glimpse beyond her limbs.

It is the only reaction she gives me. I don't make a demand for more from her though, now is not the time for that. Now is the time for patience, and gentleness.

Even as I kneel down next to her, pausing to give her the chance to lift her eyes from the dark she does not do so. I do not make her.

Instead, I offer her a soft sigh and an unseen smile before my hand place a warm blanket around her shoulder and my lips a small kiss against her hair.

* * *

I didn't want to do it, it wasn't planned. I wanted to be mad at him. I wanted to blame him. I wanted everything to be his fault. The memories won't let me have what I want. I remember it was Clint's choice, I remember, it was those eyes. Now I'm in the middle of a new memory. It's my hand gripping the end of his jacket as he rises to leave me here.

It's my voice saying words I didn't want to. "Don't go." My tiny traitorous voice. It does not what I want, but what I need. "Please don't go."

I'm begging him not to leave me in here, and I hate myself a little when I feel relief that he doesn't.

He turns instead, the tension at the end of his jacket lessening as he no doubt looks over his shoulder at me, then it lessens even more as the sound of shifting leather tells me he is kneeling once again in front of me.

He isn't just satisfied with kneeling before me though. I can feel the weight of his hands against the back of my head before I hear his voice again is my ears. "You are desperate without cause. Will you not look at me now?" A voice spoken with words of comfort, and a request.

A request I have no reason to refuse. As I disentangle my hands from their grip on my arms it is only to find them occupied quickly by something else. His fingers weave their way gently between my own, the grip remains light to grant me the option of freeing them if I so choose. I don't.

I let him help me to my feet. I let him help me more as well. It's strange that I need it, but I find myself suddenly nervous at the thought of meeting his eyes, even though I want to, just so I can know. I am afraid I will find that I am wrong, or even that I will be right. That he lifts my face to his is a relief because that I no longer have to do it myself.

* * *

I had every intention of encouraging her not to sit in the dirt, but on the meager bench and its cushion instead. A poor substitute to the furnishings I had dotted on her before, but still a better alternative to the ground. Those intentions faded with the sensation of her fingers on my skin.

Her touch is surprising, in that when I last saw her she flinched from mine but now she gave hers willingly. It is surprising, but not unwelcome.

Her skin is warm against the coolness of mine, and a delightful contrast in temperature that I find no shame in enjoying. It is soft too, softer than before from her healing, and that of the stones.

She lets her touch transform from a tentative one, her finger tips only brushing the skin before they gained some confidence and put a gentle pressure to the contact. Then it became more than just finger tips, it was the entirety of them, each of her four slender fingers and her thumb. It's the palm of her hand against my cheek.

I allowed my eyes to close, relishing the first honestly gentle touch I have felt in a span far too long for my liking. I open them because of her as well. Her little voice lets out not a word, but a sound. A whimper.

They open to see tears brimming in hers, and her other hand raised before her face, doing a poor job of hiding the way her lips tremble as she fails to prevent the hitching sound of her breath.

___She touches my face, and weeps?_ It is a question left unspoken, because before I can ask her what in the sight of me disturbs her so, she gives me an answer. "Oh god Loki, she has your eyes. My baby has your eyes..." ___She gives me everything I need._

* * *

Hopefully this time it actually showed up. I don't know why it didn't is I didn't do anything differently. Well, please a review.


	66. Day 7: part 28

It looks like whatever the technical issues fanfiction had prevented the last chapter from showing have been fixed. I hope this one doesn't have the same. Marvel is not mine, Nora and her company are.

* * *

I didn't want to believe it, but I do. Loki knows me, or a version of me that I lost. He knows me by my face, not my name. He knows me by a name like mine, but not. He knows my dreams, because to him they're memories. He treats me gently, but there is possessiveness in his actions as well. He offers me things if only for the sake of pleasing me. He gives me things, even if it would be easier for him to refuse. He wanted to kiss me, but didn't, because I wasn't ready. ___I didn't want to because of all it would imply..._ I have a little face dancing behind my lids, that looks so like me, and has eyes so like his. ___...but I do._

The teal pools of his eyes become even larger as his eyes widen, a look of slight shock filling them in response to my words. Then it drifts through his face, transforming from shock to delight while he allows a smile to form on his lips. "Arnora..." There is joy in his voice as he speaks my name, his hand rising to weave his fingers between mine, keeping it a gentle prisoner against his cheek. "...you've remembered her haven't you?"

My response is a brisk nod before I can find the words. "K-Kenna? Right?" I can feel tears threatening, and my body starts to shake, but it's not fear or sorrow this time. "Th-That's her name?" Though with the way my words tremble one would never know.

"Yes..." The hand of his that had been resting over mine now shifts, his fingers no longer weaving between mine, but bent over and resting against my palm, pushing the back of my hand into the soft flesh of his. "That is her name."

His hand moved though, with a purpose. Now it is lightly pulling my touch from his cheek. "But do me this favor little one..." His eyes are the only part of him that shifts to land on something behind me. I know what it is right away, since in this room there is only one thing and that is the bench. "...and sit, you are still not well."

I want to refuse, only for the sake of refusing. There is no purpose behind it except my wish to get answers and to get them now, with nothing to delay them. I realize how silly and unnecessary that urge is before I can act on it, his concerned expression and the tone of his "Please" bringing me back a small amount of my sense.

It isn't a response of words, or a nod, but he sees my agreement in my body language anyway.

He is nothing but gentle with me now. The pressure of his touch light against my shoulders as he both keeps the blanket he put there from slipping and makes sure I do not also. It makes me feel torn.

I thought I should fear this man. I thought he should be the enemy to me. Those thoughts seemed right. He held me here against my will. He brought me here against my will, making my friend be the one to do it. He forced a cure on me despite my wishes.

But has been gentle with me this whole time. I was never actually hurt except by myself, or when I was not with him. He took care that nothing would have the chance. He gave me things, both that I would need or want.

He gave me time. All this time he knew what I didn't, and he was patient with me. He knew who I was, what I was, and he was willing to wait for me to know it too. I had a child with this man, and he patiently endured the fact I didn't remember that. He was willing to wait for me.

___I don't know how to feel about that._

* * *

"Loki..." Her voice is a plea, but for the moment one I don't heed. "Shh now." Instead, I let my attention become occupied by seeing to her comfort. The heavy wool blanket that was found for her being carefully arranged to hold the warmth.

My attempts though don't seem to be welcome. Her hand breaks past the barrier and seeks out mine, wrapping her trembling fingers around my wrist. "...please." They are not alone in their state, her voice trembles too, the notes high and short.

"Oh..." Looking down at her upturned face I venture a moment of boldness. My hand turning around in her light grasp to grip her own wrist, preventing its retreat as my lips brush the back of her hand only for a moment. "...will I only ever now give you cause to weep?"

She doesn't say anything as I sit down next to her, but the response she does give me brings a small smile to my face. Before she can clear the tears from her cheeks with an angry sort of intensity I have my hand placed in its way and do it for her.

* * *

His touch startles me a little because I expected it to be cold, but the trace of his thumb leaves the damp skin in its wake heated, not cooled. The moment burns away quickly though with my urgency. "Loki, please, I want to see her..." There's only one thing I want right now, and it's my baby girl. It's the laughing little face I have in my head to be in my arms.

It's not a future I see in his expression, or hear is his words. "...only ever cause to weep..."

I'm begging for my baby girl, and all he gives me is a pair of apologetic eyes and those words. "No! No, she has to be here! Please Loki! No..."

* * *

I knew that would be her reaction, and before she could get very far in the process of enacting it I was already preventing it. Her hands are trying so hard to strike at me, but held as I have her against my chest they only have an inch or so to move within.

She is reacting as any Vanir woman would, mother or not. The Vanir, as a people, hold a higher esteem for the value of life than other races. This applies to all life, whether of an enemy or a friend. There is no greater love than that of a Vanir woman for her child, and no greater loss.

She sacrificed everything she had and was for this child I do not have to return to her. She defied a king's mercy for this child. She chose to be banished rather than say what she had done and wished to do was wrong.

She suffered for this child, and she still suffers because I do not have Kenna here to return to her.

It is for that reason I do not fault her as she struggles and cries against my chest, wishing to hurt me. What mother wouldn't feel this way after all. I just hold her securely, whispering less than appreciated words of comfort to her as I wait for her to exhaust herself from these efforts.

* * *

"W-Whe-ere i-is sh-he L-Lo-ki..." The muscles in my arms ache as much as they burn, my muscles protesting from the strain, even in my shoulder blades and back. I wanted so badly to bloody him for that, for not having my baby with him, for stealing that joy from me. Loki's hold was too strong though, his strength still far above that of my own.

"Shh..." His urging for my silence isn't so much to make me stop speaking as to quiet me enough that I hear his words. "Kenna is safe, none can harm her. She is in the Halls of Eljudnir, in the realm of Niflheim. She is safe there Arnora, you have my word." Those words help even if they mean nothing to me. Though it is a meager prize, because they are only words, it is still something.

"I want to hold her Loki, I want to hold my baby..." This time his hold is more to comfort than control. While before his arms had been bear-hugging me now one is running over the back of my neck, that magical warmth of his spreading into my skin. The other is resting lightly against my back.

"You will, my love. You will see our daughter again." I don't say anything else after that promise. I don't ask any questions. I'm too exhausted, not physically but mentally and emotionally. All this has just been so much so quickly, I just want to slow down for a while.

He doesn't seem to mind giving me that. He just lets his body lean back against the wall behind us, and mine rest against his. There is a relief in this, and a familiar kind of comfort as well. I wonder if we did this before, if that is why it feels this way? ___I wonder why I even care..._

* * *

I hope these last two chapters were to your liking. I found it hard is I had to make Nora turn back to Loki and make it convincing, despite the fact she knows he just brainwashed her friend again. So let me know if I did a good job with that or not please.

Also, I highly recommend looking up 'Halls of Eljudnir' if you aren't already familiar with them. It is a detail that matter greatly later in the series. For different reasons than you might think.


	67. Day 7: part 29

Marvel and all its wonderful-ness is still not mine. Nora and company however still are. I prefer short disclaimers, since it's not like anyone really reads these anyway. Lol

* * *

"While in the halls of the palace you frequently donned pale shades of gold..." when I finally managed to regain some sense of calm I made a request of him. I wanted to know who I was, I wanted him to tell me. This time he finally agreed, because I was finally ready.

It has been how we have passed the time up until now. My head resting in his lap, separated from his legs by the crossed shape of my arms between us, with his own hands busy, one lightly running over my blanket's side, keeping a current of warmth radiating from the wool to keep the cold from reaching my blood depleted body. His other is gently running his fingers through the short strands of my hair while his voice continues to drift into my ears.

"But away from the palace your attire was more often than not, a shade of lavender." I say nothing to that, just taking a casual sort of comfort in the sound of his voice, trying to remember it as I must have 'before' and not as I thought of it in such an immediate past. ___Purple, I liked that shade in this life as well..._

So many of the things I chose to wear were in shades of purple. I never gave it much thought really. It was a color that my clothes were. When I was allowed to have clothes other than a hospital gown or a S.H.I.E.L.D uniform it was with Clint and Natasha's help that they were picked out. They asked me what style and colors I preferred, but I had no answer to that, so I left it to them. ___It was Clint's influence, the majority of purples. It was Natasha's that it wasn't all that color._

It's a small blessing that his voice distracts me from those names and the thoughts they inspire. "Outside those walls as well you were often first found in the wheat fields, east of the Bifrost Bridge."

This has my interest caught more than I thought it would, because of one very compelling fact. While I remember none of this, it sounds so like me. He notices the way my head turns, so my eyes may gaze up at him from the edges of their sight. "Oh yes, quite often. You enjoyed frequenting those fields, with that dappled mare of yours left to wander unattended as you lazed in the grasses, without concern at all for the fraying of your gowns." that sound absolutely like me.

"It was in that manner I met you, nearly beneath the hoof of a horse."

* * *

Her attention isn't just a slight glance at me now from the corner of her eyes, but all of her gaze. It is made possible by her body turning from its position on its side to the one on her back. Her arms now resting over her chest instead of pillowing her head against my legs. The slight pinking of her cheeks only spreads with my smirk. "You blushed much the same way then as you do now."

Her voice is small, with notes of a horrified feeling behind them as she no doubt imagines a version of what I tell her. "You almost ran me over? With a horse?!"

Her assumption that it was myself is not without justification, however wrong it is. I remember the incident in question, and it was not beneath the feet of my stallion that she almost suffered. "No, not I, but a man formerly a companion of mine. If you do not remember him you may take that as a blessing, for there is little worth in the remembering of Fandral."

* * *

I am unsure about how to take that. I doubt very much that this man known as Fandral intended to trample me to death with a set of hooves, however all I know about him is that he almost did so. Deliberate or not that knowledge can't help but color my opinion of this man just a little.

"Beyond those fields..." He continues his tale, sparing me from the task of forming a set opinion to go with what is still just a name to me. "...lies a small island that is mostly of sand, and an ideal spot to take one's steed for a run. It is there we were heading until his horse reared so abruptly that it put him on his back, and our own became quite startled because of it. When we regained control of our nervous mounts it was to the sight of a maiden with wheat flowers stuck in her hair in the grass before us."

___I threw a man from his horse?!_ While I technically wasn't the one to actually do it, I still have blame in the fact that it happened and can't help but feel a bit bad about that. I myself have never ridden a horse, at least in this life, however I still know about them from books and YouTube videos, so I imagine falling off one would be rather unpleasant.

It is apparently visible in my expression, for his remark is related to my thoughts. "You did not feel for him at the time as you do now. In fact, you looked quite fierce. I dare say you were even prepared to inflict irreparable damage on him, until you realized who else was in the company of your attempted assailant."

That doesn't sound like me though, not the me I know to be now. "I wanted to hurt him?!" This reaction is to his amusement. "My dear he nearly trampled upon you with a horse, anyone would want to harm someone for that. Indeed, it was a pleasant change for once to see a maiden unseat him, instead of the other way around."

"I still can't see myself wanting to harm someone." I never though of myself as a violent person. I never wished to hurt anyone, so that that statement should ring true. It doesn't though, not after I say it. I remember the rock in my hand, and a fallen branch, I remember making him scream. I killed Duncan. I killed a human being. I bashed his head in with a tree branch.

"Shh..." His voice and his fingers brushing my cheek bring my attention to focus on him alone. He has his hand slipping around to cup the back of my head while his thumb is tenderly running over my cheek. "I can see the storm in your eyes, and I can't let you do this to yourself."

"But Loki I..." He stays true to his words and doesn't let me finish mine. "Did what you had to do, in the face of a great danger you did what had to be done, that is all."

He is right, I know he is right but it doesn't change how I feel. If I hadn't stopped him he would have killed Clint and taken me somewhere I didn't want to go. He changed so much that I don't know how the man in the woods could have ever been the man in that room.

I beat him to death because he took something from me, something precious and irreplaceable. He shot Clint three times, and was going to take me away from my friend. I used the log to beat his head in. I felt the blood hitting my skin, and I didn't feel like me at all. I was killing someone, but I didn't feel bad about it. It just felt necessary, not wrong or right, only necessary. I didn't feel bad about it, and oddly enough, even now I still don't.

The guilt I do feel is more of a forced sensation than a real one. I'm not sure how to deal with what I felt in those moments. I only know I didn't recognize myself, I didn't feel like me. I felt like her.

"Will I ever...remember..." I let my left hand rest on the wrist of his that is against my cheek as I look right into those eyes, wishing that color was in a different pair before me. "...being her? This woman you love?"

The look in his eyes shifts from his serious expression to something a bit softer while at the same time his hand moves from my check to my chin. The grip he holds it in being a gentle one while his thumb and forefingers rest against the jawbone with the rest curled underneath the soft flesh there. They tilt my face more towards his, denying me the chance to avoid his gaze without being obvious.

"Arnora, Nora." His use of my name here is a bit of a surprise to me, and it shows by the way he smiles a little broader down at me. "It is more than a memory that I love. By whatever name you go, and whatever person you become, my affection for you will not change."

It is the brush of the fingers from his other hand beneath my eyelids that let me know a tear had formed at those words. "I loved the woman you were as much as I will love the woman you are. Nothing has changed but the passage of time."

I don't bother hiding the emotions trying to show in my face, he has always been able to see them even when I did. There are so many of them. I'm still torn. I thought of this man as an enemy and a threat at first, but then everything he did for me wasn't the actions of an enemy. He healed me, he took care of me, he gave in to my requests, he even granted those I didn't make.

He did all of this because of who I was. I feared him because I didn't remember him, but he remembered me. He endured the sight of a woman he loved flinching from his touch, his very presence. A woman he had a child with! And she couldn't stand being near him. I can't imagine how that must have felt. "It just seems so unfair to you Loki, I mean all this time and yo...mh!"

It was quick this kiss, only a touch really, I don't think it was even a full second, but it was long enough to make my breath quicken and my eyes widen in surprise. "Shh..."The hand of his still against my cheek has the thumb now lightly tracing against the thin line of skin just below my bottom lip, those jeweled eyes of his searching mine.

"Don't be afraid of me?" He says it like a question, even though those words shouldn't be a question at all. It's a shocking fact in my head. I don't fear him, any fear I do have of him now is less than the amount that I don't. He just... Something no one ever could do before...and I don't... But why shouldn't it be him, the man I have a child with?

I don't speak an answer, but he seems to see one anyway.

The first soft caress of cool plush skin as it tugs lightly against my mine draws a soft gasp from behind my lips. It is only when the second brush happens I realize my own are moving now to match him in his efforts. I can see the smile I feel against my lips in his eyes. Then I don't see anything else, because now my eyes just want to close. The feel of his hand drifting into the hairs on my neck making me shiver for other reasons than his cold touch.

* * *

I seem to recall someone suggesting (or was it requesting?) that Loki kisses the girl. So guess what person, there you go. Loki kissed the girl... And now I have a singing crab in my head... Thanks for that. Anyways. Please leave a review.


	68. Day 7: part 30

Yet another chapter, this one follows where I teased you people with a kiss at the last ending. Is usual I do not own Marvel, Nora and her merry little circus are mine though.

* * *

His kiss is a cool one, for which I am actually grateful. It denies me the opportunity to let myself pretend it belonged to someone else. It would unfair and cruel on all sides if I did that, to Loki, to him and to myself.

I never gave much thought to what my first kiss would be like. I had so many reasons not to after all. Being afraid to even bump into someone like I was, thinking about letting someone hold me against them and touch me like that could agitate me so much it was like a panic attack.

Then even as I got better it still seemed like such an unattainable thing that I didn't let myself think about it. I didn't even have anyone I would want to share such a personal moment with.

At least that was what I told myself.

Steve 'was' my friend, and a wonderful friend. But only a friend. I knew about his past, and that there was a woman that he had affection for. But, well, sixty seven years passed, for him it was like only a night of deep sleep. What he felt for her was still alive and strong in his heart, and I wasn't going to compete with that. I didn't even want to, I had the love of a friend for him, that was all.

That's all I thought. But then I was here, and pieces of me started to see him a little different. He was my man in that cabin in the mountains, he was the arms I wanted to feel holding me. He was the person I wanted to come to save me. The way I viewed him changed. I never thought about falling in love with someone because it only seemed like a cruel fate for me, and them. How can you love someone who can't stand your touch.

I'm glad his kiss was cool. It would be cruel to everyone if I pretended it was someone else's lips on mine. I won't do that to Steve; I won't do that to Loki.

It's not just his kiss that is cool to the touch either. His hands against my skin also bear the chill that seems to be naturally part of his flesh.

His hands have shifted a little. The one that had been lightly cupping my cheek is now just as gently resting against my chin, it's position there idle and without any real purpose.

The other one, the one that had its fingers drawing small circles against the base of my skull is not so idle. Those cool digits slowly drifted lower, his thumb leaving goose bumps and making me shiver softly as it traces over the artery of my throat. It is not a sensation I would call uncomfortable, just unusual and foreign to me, this icy touch against my skin. It's not a truly conscious decision and I don't even really notice that I have arched my throat to him until I feel his lips leave mine to settle there instead.

* * *

I won't deny it, her small gasp at the change is a delightful sound in my ears. She is so timid and uncertain in the kiss she answers mine with, proof that she truly has no memory of participating in one before this. I take it as a small honor that the first kiss in her current memory is so obviously mine. I even admit a bit of relief, though only to myself. My possessive nature has me glad in the knowledge that no one has claimed these lips, to her memory, before my own.

As my lips pull from her own I can't help but smirk at her reaction. I did it in the foresight that she would not be ready yet to deepen the kiss, the chance that it may come as a dominating action and frighten her is not something I want to risk yet. However even with that in mind I find her reaction promising.

I don't even know for sure if she registered it, but she tilted her head back almost trying to pursue mine as it left her, unconsciously pleading for the kiss to continue.

When they press against the curve of her throat beneath her jaw my ears are rewarded with a sharp inhale of breath at that tiny kiss.

I can feel her pulse pounding as my kisses soft, and oh so slowly work their way down the warm flushed column of her neck. I can feel each heavy breath of hers as well as my kisses follow after the path of my hand.

My leaned position over her body has her own pressed somewhat against my chest. Each deep inhale of hers increases the pressure against the armored plate at my chest.

"Lo...ki..." Each syllable of my name is delivered on a different breath, much too my amusement. I, like any male in the universe, find a prideful satisfaction in the knowledge that I am the cause behind such a reaction. It is a reaction I encourage.

"Shh..." Well my voice may have made a request for silence my actions did not. Following that sound was a gentle puff of cool breath against her warm and dampened skin. It gave me what I wish. Her body stiffening up in surprise and a small whimper leaving her, though the tone of it has nothing to do with fear or discomfort.

It is appeasing me enough for now. I would like to push for more, but I am very aware that if I strive too quickly in this I will only frighten her off. If I truly wish to get anywhere with this woman I need to do so with patience behind each action.

She is quiet this time when my lips touch her skin again, this time at the base of her throat. But I do not need her to make a sound. Her other reactions are enough. One of her hands has a rather secure grip on the lapel of my jacket, the other is on the shoulder on the opposite side, its fingers curled so that I can feel them pressing against my shoulder blade.

She is giving me other reactions also. The way her breath is still puffing past her lips even as the bottom one is caught in her teeth is a delight to me. As are the way her eyes seem to prefer to flutter shut than remain open.

Each little touch is a test, to see just how far I can take her before her limit is reached, and where I must pull back to before pushing forward yet again. I push because I want this woman, but I want her to want it in return.

I have the strength available to me that if I so wished I could so as I desired now, but I will not do that. It would undo every ounce of progress I have made toward my goal to take her by force, however gentle I may administer it to her. It would cheapen it as well. I much prefer the idea of taking her when she is willing to let me. That will be a moment to savor.

* * *

___I'm enjoying this._ That's the raw unedited truth of it. Loki's touch feels pleasing against my skin, and it makes me feel ashamed. I'm trying not to, but I still do. I feel wicked for letting him touch me. I don't know why exactly, the closest guess I can think is my lingering loyalty to my friends. This man should still be someone who I see as an enemy, because to everyone else I care about, that is what he will be.

I should be afraid of this man. And in all honesty, part of me still is. The phobia has not completely vanished from me, it has only been reduced to the lesser portion of the things I now feel.

I feel nervous and ashamed, but he is giving me no reason to.

He is being gentle and careful with me. Each touch delicate and patient and proving that he is thinking of my comfort while he delivers them. It only adds to my shame.

I am nervous at the touch of a man who clearly loves me, and will not hurt me. I shouldn't be like this. I bore a child with him after all, and that speaks volumes of why I shouldn't.

___I had a daughter with this man._ I would have had to lay with him to do that, most likely more than once. This man has said he loves me. ___Likely many more times than once._ I shouldn't fear him. It's unfair to him for me to feel this way, but it doesn't change that I do.

I'm trying not to let it show, to give him what he deserves. But the anxiety in me is growing, however slowly, it is still growing, and I don't know how long I can do this. I'm not ready for ___that_ yet.

I find my limit sooner than I thought I would. His hand caressed its way down my skin and has found itself on my shoulder. It isn't that though that pushes me past my edge. Its that his hand is moving farther, the material of my jacket being forced to move as well by the barrier of his wrist. It is pushing the cloth off my shoulder over the edge on the way down my arm.

"Loki! Loki stop!" ___I can't do it!_ The hand that had been gripping his jacket is now trying to push him away. My efforts having about as much success as an infant trying to move a mountain. The ineffectiveness of my limbs only makes my anxiety grow.

* * *

The change was perhaps not as abrupt as I perceive it to be, but I react accordingly as I need to for her sake, even if it is not what I would prefer. I may have moved too far for the time being, but a small retreat and some time will soon allow me to try again.

Lifting my weight off her I catch the hand that has been straining all but a second to achieve the same result. "Shh..." I can see the beginnings of a frantic edge in her eyes, and hear it in the change of pitch on her erratic breath. "...Shh, it is all right, I am sorry..."

Her acceptance of my further touch is met with the small jerking of her muscles. They are starting motions of resistance but her will is stopping the subconscious reactions before they can do anything.

It is this manner that I shift our positions, pulling her up off her back and into a sitting position. I do this in the hopes that it will make her feel less in a submissive and trapped situation. Her courage needs a chance to return, having her pinned under me will not give it such an opportunity. "...I pushed you too far, I ask your forgiveness for that?"

Her response inspires me to smirk a little. "I'm being denied it, truly?"

Her eyes widen once more, and yet again she shakes her head, this time more emphatically. "No! I... I'm sorry..." Before the rest of her begins to shake a little as well, sobering any humor in my mood.

* * *

"Oh..." The slight smirk tugging at his lips vanish back into a neutral line. Then even as his expression shifts his hands reach out, but not for me. They take up the edge of the blanket and instead begin to wrap it back around my shoulders. "...there is no need of those words from you my little love."

This time despite my desire to object I find myself stopped by the expression in his eyes. "You have given me a wonder that I may kiss you at all my love, a little more control on my part is hardly a price in comparison."

This time I don't stop my reaction. Offering him a small, but steady smile I give him a "Thank you". ___He is being so understanding about the whole situation, I feel a bit like a wretch because of it._

Despite my gratitude he seems to see something in my eyes that he doesn't like. He does it slowly so as not to startle me, and allow me to the option of pulling away. But when it is clear I will not his cool finger lightly wrap themselves around my wrist, and slowly bring my hand up toward his face. His other hand uncurling my fingers from their weak fist, allowing him the expanse of my palm for him to press a kiss against. "I have not endured your absence only to lose you now to foolish haste. You're worth the time I have yet to wait." His eyes do not leave mine as he says this to me, even when he curls my fingers back to offer his kiss.

I'm trying so hard not to cry at that, but he doesn't make it easy for me. His skill with words has always seemed to test my control over myself and now it's no different. _H____ow did I have a man who cared so much about me, and then forget him?_

* * *

I can see the hint of them in her eyes, the slight dampening of tears emerging. Before they can get very far I pull her gently back against me, allowing her the rest of my shoulder and the dignity of them not being in my view. They are not tears of anguish and suffering so much as just a build up of emotions too strong for her to hold within anymore. She doesn't sniffle or sob, or make any hiccupped response, she just lets the drops that need to escape run silently down her skin.

I would have even been content to allow her to remain this way with me for a long while if she needed, enjoying the simplicity of her warm weight resting against me like this. I find it a rather annoying interruption when a disturbance appears, in the form of a knock at the door.

* * *

This time my shame is inspired by the fact I am being held in Loki's arms with tears running down my cheek, and the possibility that the one knocking is Clint.

That it might be him has me nervous, ashamed, and regretful. I have to remind myself that he chose to submit back to Loki's control, that it was his choice. But even knowing that I feel guilty. I shouldn't, but it's still a feeling within me. I kissed Loki, I kissed the man who is controlling my friend. I kissed a man who Clint doesn't even know loves me. Clint knows about Kenna, but I never told him what I suspected about Loki, what I found to be true. ___This man he sees as an enemy is a man I loved and have a family with. The father of the child he promised to find._

All my worrying is for nothing. It is not Clint's voice that comes through that door. It belongs to that man called Terrance, whose name I have heard mentioned by others speaking to him. He was the one who took care of Clint and Erik when I begged for Loki to show mercy on them. He was probably the one who did the surgery on Clint too, since I had nothing to do with the drainage bag letting the blood escape out of his chest so he could breath again.

"Sir. The scientist is asking for you. He seems to think it is urgent." I don't need to know exactly who that scientist is, nor do I need to look up to feel Loki turn his eyes to me with concern.

I can feel the muscles in his neck and shoulder shift beneath his leathers as he cranes his neck to angle his eyes down on my form. I am already answering a question I can guess is coming, this time my words beating him. "I'm fine, it's fine."

Lifting my face to meet his eyes my steady smile only confirms my claim. My cheeks may still be damp with tears, but they are only lingering ones now, I am no longer crying."You go, you have work to do."

For a moment his response is silence. He merely smiles and presses an innocent kiss against my forehead. Then he adds words. "I'll return soon..." To which I just shake my head softly, reassuring him I don't need him to hurry.

Apparently that only pleases him more. "You're becoming stronger even now my love." This time the kiss is against my lips, his hand tilting up my chin. But it is only a press of soft flesh against the soft flesh, he is the one to pull back first so as to not test my limits.

"A parting gift." His words would be odd if not for the fact I recognize the motion of his hands. This time the object that appears from the universe is not a stone, but the familiar red orb of those apples. He has two of them now resting in his hand waiting for me to claim them.

Once I do that it doesn't take him long to leave, whatever Selvig needed him for drawing him away, but not without one last moment to apologize unnecessarily for leaving me alone in this room.

With the closing of that door my teeth find their way deep into the white flesh of the fruit, my body remembering what hunger was in earnest now in the presence of food.

* * *

Once I am sure the door has closed completely and we have moved far enough from her range of hearing my attention turns to the human at my side as we both make our way to see what it is the doctor needs. "She will be ready very soon..." My words are spoken with a smirk. "...have them start their preparations."

* * *

So who likes that? Her conflicted thoughts about having to pick between Loki - a man she has a family with by blood, and Clint - part of the 'family' she chooses and built in S.H.I.E.L.D? Oh, and lets not forget her budding potential love for Steve, if she had ever been given a chance at it? Also, how many of you have theories on exactly what Loki's plans are for Nora, and why he needs the spy formerly known is Terrance to prepare for it?

Well, leave a review.


	69. Day 8: part 1

I still do not own Marvel, nothing has changed there. Nora and her travelling circus are still mine.

* * *

___I knew it... That's what I told myself. I knew__ it. Like it was some kind of guarantee._ I knew she would call, because that is what she said she would do. ___She would call._

All my eye sees though are the glow of two digital numbers in the dark. 00.

I woke up to the sounds of Brooklyn at nine am on a Friday and didn't even bother with the rest of my morning routine, I just walked out of my bedroom, still in my pajamas and looked at that answering machine to see if her promised phone call had come yet. No one called, no one left a message.

___I don't have the right to feel like this._ I feel hurt a little. Those red numbers come with a tiny emotional sting behind them. They come with a tiny poisonous thought as well. ___She forgot..._ once it is in there it is like it attaches to my thoughts with barbs and teeth. This sense of betrayal, however unreasonable it is.

Nora didn't call because she didn't remember. She is out there, seeing the world now, having new experiences, and making new friends. She is too busy to remember my problems. ___Why would she when they were never hers, and she doesn't have to look at them everyday?_ Of course, it was only natural for her to take care of me when she was here. She couldn't leave this place after all. It isn't like she had anywhere else to go or any new people to meet. No, now she has what she always wanted, why would she think about her life here when her new one is so much better.

Those are the thoughts in my head, but I don't mean any of them. They sound bitter and slighted. The truth is I am happy for her. She spent two and a half years living in a world that didn't stretch beyond the walls of S.H.I.E.L.D. That she now has the chance to actually see the world is a wonderful thing in my opinion.

When she first got those 'privileges' she was absolutely ecstatic. Even though this was only a trail period. She was to live in a tiny apartment owned by a S.H.I.E.L.D front company, used normally to house visiting agents and officials from other organizations. She didn't care that it would come with surveillance ,a strictly enforced curfew, and a mandatory amount of paperwork detailing the events of her day to day life. None of that mattered to her, she only cared that she was able to go outside, something so many people take for granted.

I couldn't help but be happy with her. Especially when she saw me in the hall and did her best to tackle me with a hug. Her tiny little body, this time dressed in her S.H.I.E.L.D uniform as she was still working at the time, and she had her arms wrapped around my waist laughing. She was almost crying too, she was so happy.

Once she let go of my waist, her hands were quick to be busy, this time holding up a piece of paper. The document proving she had the 'authorization of civilian rights and privileges'. She was so excited she was fidgeting, her body rocking back and forth on her heels while she shared that triumph with me.

It was her greatest victory, that's what she called it. Like she has been fighting in a battle, though in a way she really had been. She had been fighting a war within herself for almost three years.

She shared more with me too. After what was obviously a small eternity for her, waiting for her work day to be done and after she sought me out again. Once more trying to tackle me with a hug and failing. She wanted me to come with her. The apartment was all ready and waiting for her to move into, and she wanted me to come see it with her.

Her friends, the agents she always talked about so fondly were not there. They were both out on assignments, and not around to share this experience with her, so she chose me instead.

If any woman ever deserved the chance to live their life freely, it's her. She has every right to be out there and so lost in her own life that she doesn't call me. I said I would stop clinging to her as some sort of shield, and it's about time I did.

Besides, it is only nine am. There are many hours left in the day. That she hasn't called yet does not mean she will not. She has a life and a job over there after all. It's rude and selfish of me to assume I must come first before her responsibility. Just when she was here I got used to it being that way. She always seemed available whenever I needed her, even if I knew she had other things to do, she always set them aside for me.

I'm a war hero, but right now my thoughts are more like a spoiled child.

Leaving my position within the door frame I make my way to the kitchen, my otherwise straight path curves a little so I don't walk into the edge of my 'desk' it is actually a simple wooden dinner table, but I hardly ever use it for that.

Most of the time I just eat my meals right in the kitchen, something I do for efficiency sake, so I can wash them as soon as I am finished. I think the few times it has actually served its real purpose is because of her.

She even made me pull it into the kitchen once because the recipes she was making had so many ingredients that my kitchen counter just didn't have enough room on it to hold all of it, let alone allow her to prepare the meal.

I told her if it was too much trouble that we could just go out to eat, but given the expression she turned on me when I said that I let it drop. She looked at me like I had just committed some sort of sin and if I continued I might be inviting danger into my life.

It wasn't exactly frightening given I can bench weights heavier than her with one hand, but I still recognize offended when I see it. To make up for it I asked if I could help. It seemed wrong to make a guest do all the work for my benefit, even if it was her idea to begin with.

That meal was delicious, as most everything she ever cooked was. I can't recall any dish she made that wasn't at the very least good. The memory of her cooking only makes what I'm about to eat all the more unappetizing.

I am no chef by any means. Even when I was helping Nora cook something I had to stop and check frequently to make sure I was doing it right. I might even have made more work for her as a result of that at times, but she never complained. I think she just liked the activity of it. It was something she could do and share with people.

Bypassing the fridge I turn right when I enter the kitchen, and stop at the section of the cupboard beyond the stove. The appliance I plan on using isn't either of those for the time being. It is the toaster. It was actually something I picked out with her.

I had been content with just ordering each meal and having it delivered, or eating things that required no preparation, at least until I let Nora see my apartment. She wasn't critical in her judgement of the place, she actually seemed to think it was nice. It was just sparse to her, and given her love of cooking the kitchen was even more so.

When she asked where all my cookware was and I told her I had none she had a blank sort of shocked expression, as if she was waiting for it to be a joke. When she realized I was serious her expression became determined.

She took me shopping. By literally taking me by the sleeve and telling me to put on my coat. The toaster I'm about to use to heat up my bagels is one of the things she helped me pick out. After I pop in a bagel in each of the four slots and set them to cooking I turn to the coffee maker, something she also helped me pick out.

It is one of those more technical ones, but Nora has a slightly better understanding of things like that than I do. She programmed it for me, setting it brew the coffee on its own every morning, I just need to make sure it is filled the night before. She made it very simple for me too. On their own separate pieces of tan tape, in her handwriting there is a 'brew now' and 'brew later', so I don't mess it up.

The coffee has already finished brewing before I came out here and is not only hot, but filling the air with a dark heavy scent. The mug next to it is another one of her additions to my life. I have a few of them, most of which is designated to this part of the house.

Before she left for her assignment on the base and had to leave her apartment behind she had a collection of coffee cups there. One for each of the people honored enough to be counted as her friends. She had one for each of her 'siblings'.

The 'sister', a woman named Natasha who I never had the chance to meet or find out her last name, hers was a black and white ornate floral pattern with a spoon that sat in the handle. Her 'brothers', a man named Clint who also lacked a last name, was a yellow one with the emblem of a sports team he apparently liked following, the mascot being a hawk.

Her own was a tan mug with a dark brown rim and a dragonfly painted on its side with some sort of raised paint, and a trail of dots swirling in its wake. She apparently made that one, taking interest in a pottery class for a little while, one of the many hobbies she tried when she gained the chance to do so.

She made mine too. A simple brown mug that narrows a little around the top part. It is painted brown , all except for where she used a stencil to put a tan eagle on it before glazing it and cooking to turn it from damp clay to hard. When she left she insisted I keep it here with me. It was less she would have to pack, and she didn't want it to get broken in the move.

I couldn't exactly come up with a good reason not to keep it, after all she did make it with me in mind. The only reason I had any reservations about it was I didn't feel right taking something she put her time into like that, but even I was thinking it I knew it was a silly thought.

I'm actually glad I did take it. If it wasn't reason enough that it made her happy to give it to me, I can also always return it to her when she comes back.

Now that I've filled it with the strongest coffee I can brew given the size of the filters, I leave it sitting there for a moment. This time my journey does take me to the fridge. I may like my coffee strong, but I don't enjoy it burning my mouth. While I am in there I also grab the tub of cream cheese. I could eat the bagels plain, but I want something with a little more flavor than that right now.

By the time I finish getting my coffee ready I can hear the toaster pop up, each round ring of bread now a crisp golden color. Reaching toward the dish rack I pull a plate and a butter knife out of the contents. Then one by one I pluck the bagels right out of the toaster, the heat not strong enough to hurt my fingers.

It doesn't take me long to finish my small breakfast. The bites of cream cheese laden bagel washed down by first one cup, then two, of coffee. The caffeine doesn't do much in the way of energizing me because of the serum, but the warmth is still nice and at the very least it hydrates my dry throat from sleep.

The few dishes I did are quickly done as well and put back in the dish rack to dry. During the first few weeks of me having this coffee pot I always stopped here in my routine to turn it off so it wouldn't burn the coffee, however I eventually realized that it was actually an automatic feature of it. After about a half hour the coffee pot turns itself off.

Trusting the small machine to do it as always I let my routine continue back toward my bedroom. I need to change out of these pajama pants if I am going to accomplish anything today. ...and today I will...

Entering the room I turn to my dresser and pick out my outfit for the day. It isn't anything dressy, simply a white undershirt, a clean pair of socks and briefs, and a pair of denim blue khakis. Those soon find themselves laid out on my bed, waiting until I am done with the shower I intend to take before I put them on.

Next I turn to my closet, picking out the pair of loafers I want to wear for the day. I also grab one of my small print plaid shirts, hanger and all lie on the bed. It turns out to be one of my gray ones, but I am not in a particular mood since I just grabbed it at random.

With those laid out neatly on the blankets I finally turn to the bathroom. Once I clean myself up I plan to get out and see the city today, as opposed to staying cooped up in my home. It seems like a better way to spend the anniversary of Bucky's death. If he would want anything from me it wouldn't be that.

I haven't had the chance to mourn him properly yet, I've been putting it off because I don't know how to face them yet, how to justify that they all endured and fought without me only to grow old and die, while I slept and time didn't touch me.

I still don't know how to do it, but I know one thing. It will start with me opening that file. That is one thing I have to do myself, and Nora can't help me with that.

* * *

So here was a Captain chapter for you. I needed something to break up the string of Loki and Nora chapters, and also tell you about where in the timeline of the movie the story is. Now continue drooling over the idea of Steve in the shower, lol, and leave a review.


	70. Day 8: part 2

Still don't own Marvel. Nora and her travelling circus remain under my possession. Read on.

* * *

_Her distrust would have served her better, ..._ though I opened the door silently it becomes quickly apparently my caution is without need. ___...if she had only been able to keep it._

She is sleeping now, as I knew I would find her. Idunn's apples are a great and powerful source of restorative magic, but they are not resistant to the addition of more. The apples I left with her were enchanted. A simple spell designed to induce what appears to be a deep and natural sleep. It did just that.

She is lying on the cushion on the bench, her right side being the half that is in contact with the surface. Her right arm is bent to put her hand in front of her face, the fingers still curled as if they had been holding the partially consumed fruit that now rests on the floor when she surrendered her consciousness to the spell. Her other hand is draped limply over the edge, its fingertips slick as it almost succeeds in brushing the floor.

She looks very peaceful this way. Asleep and unconcerned with the goings on of the world around her. It's almost regrettable, what I have in mind for her. It is not a feeling strong enough however to prevent me from continuing with my plans.

It may be true that the Fates have dealt her a vicious hand, her life has been far from pleasant for so very long.

But her presence in my path offered me an advantage too great to turn a blind eye to. A Vanir healer descended from the same bloodline as Eir, the greatest practitioner of the healing arts that Asgard has ever seen. Vanir magic exists in their body, their very blood. It is inherited and passed down more than it is learned.

Well she may not be Eir herself, but the power within her is still potent enough to be an asset to me. One I intend to use for my greatest benefit.

She has come to trust me, to even perhaps begin to have a deep affection for me. This will serve me well. I cultivated it in her intentionally, removing the desire to resist me from her will.

I spun the situation she was in at every turn. The events of her 'escape' were carefully planned and acted out in the hopes that it would be enough of a catalyst to rouse her power from its hibernation. I had only planned for her capacity to heal to return, I was delighted when I saw that her ability to use it offensively as well had awoken. Delighted and concerned.

Her capacity to cause pain and harm was delightful, seeing its effects on that human were a moment of joy indeed, I will not deny it. But it wasn't the ability I was striving for.

I only wanted her as a healer, and I wanted her without control.

Well it was clear back in the forest she had none over the power radiating out of her blood, the fact that it harmed him at all was a hint that her control could have already begun to return to her.

My plans for her hinged on the idea that she doesn't have it. If I was to wield her power effectively, or at all, I needed to act before that happened. Before it could resist my will.

It is also why I kissed her. While the feel of her lips was a pleasant one indeed, there was a motive behind it beyond physical pleasure. I was testing the limits of her trust, testing just how far it extended and would allow me to go.

While I did not make it much beyond her shoulder it was still enough to give me the answer I needed. She allowed me to touch her in a manner that was intimate. Even if the kiss was not much more than innocent it only mattered that it was a kiss.

She allowed it to happen, she strove to endure it, and even when she pushed me away it was not in a moment of absolute refusal, but the need for a short reprieve. If I had truly tried I could have claimed her lips again, but I had the answer I needed. ___She would allow me to do as I pleased with her. She would let me._

That is what I ultimately needed, her absolute surrender to my will, her lack of resistance. What I have planned comes with a risk and no guarantee of success. If she were to resist me it would only diminish those already questionable chances.

It is why I chose to make her sleep. Once I start this process, if she were conscious, she would have no other option than to become combative. The requirements of the ritual alone would give her cause, even before the effects began to take place.

No, forcing her into unconsciousness was a necessary decision, and a merciful one.

The soldiers and the scientist have prepared a room for the ritual, and it is not this one. Though it too is just as sparsely decorated as this one. Though for its purpose it has all it will need.

Kneeling down next to the makeshift bed I slip one arm under her legs and hook it behind her knees, making sure to grasp the material there so it doesn't shift inappropriately during the trip. That these mortals get to look at her at all is a blessing they don't deserve.

My other arm slips under her at the shoulder, moving around her back to wrap my hand under the opposite side. Then gently so as not to disturb her sleep, however spelled it may be, I lift her weight easily off the meager cushions.

She shifts a little in her unconscious state, but not in a manner that has me worried she will wake. I know the strength of my magick, and it will not have faded yet. Instead she rests her head against my shoulder, rather than the strained position of letting it hang backwards.

___So trusting._ But then, given what she has revealed to me, there really isn't a reason for her not to. Why would she not trust the father of her forgotten child. It is a pity for her that it is not true, or not in the manner she believes.

When she spoke of her child having my eyes it shocked me, but then I realized what an advantage her misconception would give me, and I used it.

I played the part of a lost lover, as I had before. But now she had 'proof' of it. She thought the child she saw was mine, that I was that infant's father. It was a cruel deception on my part, but a convenient one none the less.

Even now as she sleeps in my arms there is nothing to suggest she suspects her mistake, nor in fact am I planning to ever give her any reason to. Her belief of that is a great benefit to me and will make controlling her that much easier.

I do not even have reservations about deceiving her in such a manner in the future. She is not the loveliest of women I have ever laid eyes on, but she is still a beautiful woman, and I will not deny I find myself attracted to her. I may not have been her lover before, but I see no reason the future must be the same.

The trip to the room doesn't not take very long. This facility is somewhat smaller than the last one, which was decimated in our wake. Its construction however seems much the same in style.

When I reach the door with my passenger I find it being opened for me by none other than her so beloved friend. The agent I used to deceive her into obedience. I take a grim sort of amusement that this version of him barely spares her unconscious form a glance despite the fact I know the real agent Barton would not be, and likely isn't, so calm about it.

Entering the room I take care passing through the door frame so as not to hit her head against it. Once inside I let my attention drift from her while the agent follows me in, my attention on the setup of the room instead.

In the middle of the room they have placed a solid metal table long enough to lay her on, and as per my instructions they have bolted it securely to the floor.

The table is not bare though. Already on it and waiting only for the addition of her body are seven heavy sets of straps, designed solely for the purpose of immobilizing a person. It only takes a glance from me over my shoulder to inform agent Barton of my desire for his assistance.

As I lay her down on the metal surface he immediately begins getting to work securing her body, with me following shortly behind him in his pace. There are straps that wrap around her ankles, her knees and her thighs. Her wrists, waist and chest are bound down to the surface also. There are even straps that stretch lengthwise beneath the table, binding the strap around her ankles down, and attaching the strap over her chest to restrain her shoulders.

Once that is done my attention turns to the spy I enslaved. He too takes little more than a glance to understand what I want. His body moving to go collect the drugs I plan on giving her. However as he does a voice and a question catches my attention.

"Sir, isn't this already enough?" It is the scientist that she calls a friend. Her Erik Selvig. It is a question that could make me suspect my control of him was slipping, if I did not already now the strength, or more correctly weakness of his 'heart'. I enchanted this man without the Tesseract and only needed a sentence to do so.

His question is only born out of ignorance and concern, made all the more apparent as he continues to speak. "I mean, we have her restrained, and she is already under a spell. Are the drugs really necessary?"

I allow a small smirk at that. "Yes, they are very necessary." and it is true.

This ritual will force no small amount of pain on her. More so than a sleeping enchantment could hope to overcome. I will of course strengthen the spell, but there is no guarantee it would hold her on its own power once I begin.

What I have in mind is very old and powerful magick. In fact, this particular ritual has been declared forbidden by the All-Father himself. The use of it now considered a barbarous and archaic practice, one that even if used out of love will now receive the harshest of punishments.

I need her to remain perfectly still throughout the rite, something that bonds and magick combined may still struggle to accomplish. Even with the use of as much sedatives and morphine as they think her body can handle the pain she will feel will be immense. That she will be unconscious will unfortunately not spare her this suffering.

It only needs to suppress it however long enough for me to take hold. Once I have that done even if she does put up resistance I should be able to continue with the process without trouble.

Once the man know as Terrance has finished his work I motion those lingering in the room to leave. He hasn't only injected a mixture of chemicals into her veins, but also set up a continuous drip to make them that much more effective. An action I had not even ordered of him, proving that at least one human is capable of acting efficiently.

Once they have left the room though, I notice something interesting when I begin my own preparations. As I slipped the knife from beneath my vambrace my eyes caught the sight of something glistening on her opposite cheek.

A single solitary tear, with no evidence of being her own. It is merely resting on her cheek, with no dampened skin around it indicating a path it traveled to get there. It is merely sitting on her skin, on the side that the agent had been.

___My my, he really does fight so hard for you my dear._ His determination to save her is admirable and annoying. When this is all over I suppose I will have to kill him. He could be very useful, but this continuing resistance for her sake is becoming tiring, and the fact that he seems to be eroding my control quicker each time is troubling as well.

It is a good thing then, I suppose, that I did send him out of the room. I had been considering allowing him the pleasure of watching and assisting me. It would have only weakened my control of him all the quicker, and I still have a use for him.

She doesn't even flinch or shiver as my cool fingers make quick work of the adjusting the lapels of her lab coat, pulling them to the side and tucking them beneath the traps to expose more of the skin over her sternum. I would prefer to limit the amount of blood that ends up on her clothing, if that is at all possible.

* * *

... I'm sure I am gonna catch Hell for that, but is I have said. This story isn't supposed to be a romance, it only suggests at it. I didn't put it under that genre for a reason.

Loki is Loki, and I quote Tom Hiddleston "I don't think Loki's attitude to women is particularly healthy or tender."

So yes, even if Loki does like her, he sees her more is something he can use to his advantage and he plans on doing it.


	71. Day 8: part 3

Yet another chapter out where I still find myself lacking in possession of Marvel and its wonders. I content myself with the fact that I at least own Nora and her circus.

* * *

"Bring...every piece of medical equipment...you have." The order as he enters the room at my beckon is delivered with a bit of a breathless pause given my own condition at the moment. It is also met with some hesitation. I appointed this man as the physician among us, and his desire to do that duty makes him question my own health. "Sir, I th..."

But while I normally appreciate a strong sense of professionalism I am not in the mood for it at the moment. "I gave you an order, do it now!" This time the hesitation is gone, and so is he.

Whatever pain and discomfort I feel, whatever the state of my health, it matters less than hers.

I may have succeeded in completing the ritual, but the process is still far from complete. She still needs to survive long enough for it to settle and her body to adjust.

A body reacts with an instinctive sort of intelligence only. If it senses the presence of something foreign it will naturally attempt to remove the intruder from its flesh, even if doing so will only harm it more than allowing it to remain. That is now what her own body is doing, trying to undo my efforts.

It sees the mark I placed in her skin as some sort of parasite that needs to be expelled, and in that regard it is not entirely wrong.

The lines now decorating her skin have melded together to form a symbol. My symbol. Just as she can channel the power though her blood I am capable of it also. Though hers is done instinctively, my own capacity with blood magic was learned, and is controlled.

I cut my hand, allowing the blood to fill a small bowl. From there I coated the blade in it, channeling my magic and will through the knife while I cut the tiny line after tiny line into her skin, tattooing my own essence into her flesh. I barely finished the head of the first serpent before I could see the beginnings of pain in her expression.

The ritual was forbidden by the All-father for a reason. Its original creation was meant to be used for a pure reason. It was created to bind the life of one to another, it was created by a pair of powerful wielders of magic, of lovers.

It binds half of ones 'soul' for lack of a better term, to that of another, and when done in the manner it was originally created, it takes half of the other persons 'soul' and replace the part that was removed. It binds half of two life forces within a single body.

But like all things created, no matter how pure their original intention, they can be twisted to wicked uses. The ritual was meant to be done between a willing pair of individuals, of lovers. But it could also be done among those not willing and in love. It could be done to an enemy.

Indeed, so it was. Before Odin ruled Asgard, before it was forbidden by his order, it was used in this manner. There were cases of a victor sparing his enemy's life only to enslave them in such a way. Binding their life to themselves in the knowledge that they could not harm them now without harming themselves.

It was a very effective strategy, after all no matter how much one hates another seldom do they hate them enough to risk killing themselves just to bring them down.

Even more cruel a fate were the cases where the victor only took, but did not return. It left the one who was subjected to the bonding with only half of their 'soul' or life force under their own control, while the caster now had not only all of their own life, but half of the victim's as well. This allows them complete control of their prisoner without the risk of harm to themselves. A division of three fourths to one fourth.

One can live in such a manner, but to call it living is almost too kind of a term. It is more appropriately called surviving if anything. It is what I have done to her.

It would be foolish of me to bind my own life into this woman at this time, and possibly ever. She has no skills as a warrior and has still not returned to her full strength as an Asgardian. She is far too vulnerable and weak, and my enemies too powerful in comparison. Even the mortals that will rise against me could be capable of killing her if they choose. Though I doubt they will it is still within their capabilities.

The mark I tattooed into her flesh is a 'parasite'. It is a piece of me, my power, my magic. It is a conduit. It acts as a channel, pulling her power and directing it into me, via her own symbol.

While I had to manually place mine into her skin, her own formed on me magically as I continued the ritual. Forming in time with each slide of my blade over her chest. It was not a pleasant sensation for me to undergo as I had no benefit of unconsciousness or narcotics, but I at least am capable of enduring through pain.

Even when it spread beyond the mark, forcing its way through the rest of my body I still continued on steadfastly. Ignoring the reaction of my nerves and focusing only on the task at hand and doing it correctly.

Now with her magic bound to me and under my control the pain is substantially less. While in her hands her magic is wild and chaotic, in mine it is not. I know how to channel and use magickal energy, and while her own is different than mine it still responds to the same principals. The art of controlling energy, no matter what kind, all operates within the same basis.

I am using it to heal myself as well as her. The magic within her is reacting to the bond, trying to heal it and separate herself from my control. But it does so without any sense of direction, only flooding her skin with the raw power.

I am regulating it for her, and myself. Taking the raw wild energy and forcing control on it, limiting its effectiveness.

I want her to heal, but to do so as quickly as her body is trying to do will separate the bond and very likely kill her. That is a fate I have no desire to allow her. If she dies the part of her I have bound to me will dissipate, its source no longer available to channel for my use.

The bond needs time to settle, fusing more securely with her body and soul. It is something that takes time, and if not for the fact that her magic is of a healing nature, it would take even longer. Her heritage gives her an advantage in this situation. Even among those who entered into this ritual willingly there was not always a happy ending.

That is why I ordered him to bring the medical equipment, however meager it is in comparison to the medicine of Asgard. I will not allow her the option of death. I did not spend so much time and energy on this lovely little woman only to come out empty handed.

Beneath my touch I can feel the cool temperature flowing from my mark in great contrast to the almost burning heat radiating around it. The twin serpents of the Ouroborus are twisting and writhing as a real serpent would when in pain. The mark has taken on a life of its own, and because it is magical can now move and shift within her skin, the lines I cut still raw and red as they move with the snake's dance.

Her own mark on me is equally as agitated. I cannot see it yet as it formed beneath my armor, but it too is reacting like a living thing in pain, writhing and shifting in my skin, no doubt with red bloody lines of its own.

I ignore this though, continuing to focus my attention only on maintaining the pace with which her magic accomplishes its purpose.

I can feel her heart pounding beneath my touch, the rate of its beats far too fast to be considered healthy. Her breathing too has given me cause for worry. Its pace is far too fast and shallow, each little breath shaking her feverish body.

Her skin also looks worrisome. She has paled visibly, the slight tan that should be in her skin has become a pale sickly shade and her entire body has broken out into a heavy sweat, soaking the white of her clothes and turning the red that stained its collar to a thinning pink.

When he returns he does not even pause to announce his presence, instead just entering the room again with several men carrying equipment and others to assist him. At any other time this lack of decorum might have offended and angered me, but for now his haste is to my benefit.

Even his fingers against her skin aren't enough of an irritation to bring up at the moment. That they are there to help her survive are enough of a reason to allow him this privilege.

His orders are delivered with quick precision. He orders another IV put into her, this time with blood. It is apparently to help with her now dangerously high blood pressure, which is the cause behind her frantically beating heart. He has a ventilator brought in and hooked up, the hard plastic mask quickly put over her face, each sharp breath of hers fogs up the inside of it.

When he orders them to prepare heat packs to raise her temperature I intervenes, using my little trick to do it instead, an action that will accomplish the desired results she needs quicker than their methods would.

I find it mildly amusing the reaction this gets from most of the mortals in the room. They stop at the sight of it, as if my hand suddenly radiating heat was such an amazing thing. Her initial reaction was much the same. The limits of what these mortals believe is so amusing it is almost sad. Their ignorance, their modern age, will be their downfall.

He orders them back to work harshly, sending some to get new clothes and blankets for her and others to get hot water and rags to try and clean her skin of blood and sweat. With those tasks assigned his attention once more turns to me.

I am still obviously in a less than comfortable state. Most of the magic I am using now is flowing there, the hand I am not and will not remove from her skin, so that leaves my own pain unattended. Beneath my armor I can feel the not so dull and sticky flesh where her mark cut itself into my skin, mimicking my application of my own into hers.

"Sir? Your injuries should be dealt with too." This time I offer no argument, letting my jacket as well as the leather shirt and its gold inlaid chest plate vanish, the simple collared black shirt beneath it vanishes as well. Once all the layers on my torso vanish they reveal my pale skin tainted a shade of pink and red.

The blood has had time to run down my chest to coagulate into sticky blackening lines well others still remain glistening and fresh. My attention isn't on the blood though, as I knew it would be there.

My attention and irritation instead are on the mark itself. As I allow this servant to clean the blood away, I am once again struck by how twisted the Norns are. The symbol of this woman, the mark that my actions have put on my skin to remain for the rest of eternity is a bird of prey. _An eagle._

* * *

So there is proof that Loki is an absolute prick. Poor Nora, even I feel bad and I did it to her (being the author and all), but this was my plan all along.

Now on the chance no one understands the eagle thing. Arnora in old Norse translates to 'the eagle of Thor', so Loki just condemned himself to wear a symbol of his 'brother' on his chest for the rest of his life. It's a small vengeance for what he just did to Nora, but it's one none the less.

Well... Leave a review and tell me how ^& $#&*% * I just made you, lol.


	72. Day 8: part 4

Still do not own Marvel, but retain ownership of Nora and her companions

* * *

They managed to stabilize her, though I cannot truly say her state is anywhere near one of health. Her breath is still taken with a sharp heavy pace, and beneath the brush of my fingers against her heated skin I can still feel her heart racing.

Despite this however I must admit they are right. Despite the fact her heart still races it no longer does it in an erratic pace, the same can be said for how she breathes.

Even more telling of the true state of her condition is the mark. The serpents intertwined on her chest have finally begun to calm after several hours of my tending to her. They have even begun to show the start of color, the red lines in her flesh starting to darken into what will eventually be black like ink.

I have been carefully regulating her healing as well as my own during those hours. Maintaining rate with which her body repairs itself at a level that will have her healthy once again, but is not so abrupt that it threatens the bond.

I want her alive, letting the bond sever and likely kill her in the process is in no way for my benefit. Nor do I have any desire to feel the pain of her passing. While it will not harm me in any real way, now that her energy has begun to fuse with mine if it were to suddenly disappear it would not do so in a pleasant manner.

The progress of my own mark matches hers. The shifting of the bird resting over my heart has stopped the wild beating of its wings and clawing at last, now settling on anxious preening instead. My mark as well as hers, and any other who ever took part in this ritual, acts as a truly living creature would, despite the fact it is only a magical construct.

If its host is in pain it will react accordingly. Once the magic has truly settled and the lines have darkened completely however its movement will no longer cause pain or discomfort.

For now though it is still too sensitive for me to be comfortable with anything touching it so I am sitting in this room only clad from the waist down.

The spy from Britain wanted to cover them, mine as well as hers, after they were cleaned. I made it very clear they would not be. First because it would only add to the discomfort we each felt, but also because if it was covered I could not monitor the progress of it.

Running the cloth once more over her forehead I wipe the beads of sweat forming from her brow, frowning slightly at the small noise that escapes even beyond the mask on her face.

At this stage in the process her entire body will still be sore, as is the state of my own as well, and it is no surprise.

The bond may be centered on the mark on her chest, but it affected and invaded her entire body. Even a gentle touch at the moment will feel like something severe.

Truthfully I take no joy in the knowledge she is in pain. I did not, nor do now have any reason I would wish her harm. The reason I did as I have done was very simple. It would be to my benefit. There was nothing personal behind the decision, it was only a tactical one. She had a skill that could serve me well, even better if I could bring it under my control.

"Hush now my love..." I do not know if she will hear my words in her unconscious state, or even have the clarity to understand them, but I speak anyway in the thought that the sound of a voice alone might offer her some comfort. "...this pain will pass, I promise you that."

Another small sound leaves her, this one slightly sharper than the last while I carefully dab at a trickle of blood that leaked from her mark, prompted by the slow roll of the serpent.

Even with the drugs of the mortals running through her veins the pain of the bonding is still affecting her, though her consciousness and control of her muscles is minuscule at best.

As my touch moves away from the mark for the time being I can see the almost imperceptible tension in her hands retreat.

Even drugged, be-spelled and restrained as she is, she still offers up a struggle, however small. For her spirit at least I respect her. It is strength like this I remember seeing in her on that bridge.

Her name may not be looked upon fondly in the realm of Asgard for what she had done, no one who has ever questioned or defied the rule of the All-father has ever been. But to me her name is, and should be a thing of pride.

How fitting that a traitor to the laws of Asgard should join and serve another.

I seldom put much stock in the concept of 'fate' but if there is such a force in the universe I must once again admit that its humor and influence are as twisted as it is far reaching. I never would have imagined this outcome when she vanished from Asgard six hundred years ago.

At the time all I knew to feel for her was guilt at how my actions had doomed her, and regret that my further ones did nothing to help her.

I pleaded her case to my 'father', I bore witness on her behalf with my mother at my side, and her family as well. I was just as fervent in my wish for the All-father to treat her kindly as her own husband. A man who loathed me my participation in his wife's exile as much as he appreciated my assistance.

Doubtless the all-father would not have given her a chance at all if I had not petitioned him on her behalf, and my sweet mother had not added her voice in response to mine. Though it was a chance she spat on when presented before her.

A brave and honorable decision of hers, even if foolish.

This time my touch is at her throat, cleaning another trickle of blood that has leaked from her broken skin and traveled into the valley above her collar bone.

The coolness of my touch draws another soft moan of discomfort from her, but after my first initial words of hushing and comfort I notice that this time the soft sound almost bears the cadence of a word.

It is only then that I realize her short open mouthed puffs of breath have a tiny sound hidden in them. The first after I puzzle it out is no surprise. It is the name of her so beloved child.

The second is far more interesting, and disadvantageous. Taking a deep almost disappointed breath I let it out in a sigh. "You my dear..." Lightly dabbing once again at the blood on her skin I continue. "...would have done far better to remain silent."

The name she was muttering on her breath was a name from a life she had forgotten, and I took great advantage of her lack of his memory. Though I suppose if ever she were to regain her memory this is hardly the worst of times. I can still control her even if it has truly returned.

It would not surprise me if such has truly happened. It was a trauma that took it from her, it only stands to reason one could bring it back.

Pity though, playing the part of her lover was so easy and effective when she did not remember Randulfr Havardrsson, her brave and steadfast husband.

* * *

So we have a little more on what Loki did to her and its effects, and oh look, memories.


	73. Day 8: part 5

Still do not own Marvel, nothing new there. Nora is mine, so is her little following of circus like folks.

* * *

It's like honey, this sensation, but honey filled with broken glass. The thick tacky sensation of emotions that don't match up with the broken words or scenes in my head. Everything is in pieces, and none of them are where they should be.

I can see a pair of hands looking far too like my own to be anyone else, they are running a brush over the short hairs of a speckled gray horse's flank. The words I hear with this image are words of comfort. "Shh, lovely boy. I will be your mother now, Shh little Skari..."

I can feel a pair of fingers against my back, the light brush of them as they accomplish some unseen task. Then they are on my shoulders. The hands, large and warm and calloused from hard work, push the straps of my dress from my shoulders, letting the material pool around my feet. The voice as angry and harsh, and my face stings. "This woman has hands blessed by the good Lord in heaven! You, and no one else will touch her again, do you understand? Harm her and I will kill you myself!"

I can see a woman, laying next to me in the flattened green stalks around us, while the rest encircle us like a fortress wall. A small little hand is in hers, it is my hand. She is singing a lullaby and running her fingers through my hair. "Oh, my Lords! Forgive me. Had I known in whose company I was I would not have spoken thus. How may I serve you?"

There is salt in the air and despite the breeze being mild the air is cold. I am gathering the speckled eggs of seabirds from between the rocks, the sounds of their parents above me, voicing their protests, but not brave enough to come near. There is the sounds of dogs also, two little hounds with short legs and curling tails, running around as they try to catch one of the flying creatures.

Mixed in with their excited barking is the laughter of a little boy. His little head of pale blonde hair a wild mess from the activity, and his little sheepskin winter cloak has been discarded on the pebbles of this rocky shore, leaving him only in his thick woolen tunic and shirt for warmth.

His fun is only ended when one of the birds becomes brave and flies close enough to startle him off his feet. It only takes a moment before the shock wears off, and he begins to cry with a volume only available to a toddler. His distress is comforted though not by me, but by a ruddy skinned man with black hair who had been busy cleaning his catch of fish.

He pauses to go pick the boy up, out of the reach of the concerned dogs and their urge to lick away his tears. Carrying him back while lecturing him on being a strong man he sets him down next to him and lets him watch in fascination as he works.

Throughout this 'memory' I could hear my voice, screaming and begging. "NO! Please don't take her! No, get off me, give her back! Loki! Please! My Prince! Please! She's my baby! You can't! Get off me, let me go! Give her back!"

Images, emotions, and words. They are swarming like a pack of angry bees, hitting and stinging every inch within my skull, my whole body in fact. I feel heavy and cold, and like I'm on fire at the same time.

I can feel it most in my chest. The sense of pressure, heat, and pain is greatest there. It's like someone put a red hot heated brick of metal there, right above my heart.

I can barely force my own thoughts through the duel barrage of pain, but one thought of my own does exist in this storm. It's a very simple thought, a basic and instinctual one. It needs to stop...

* * *

By her expression alone it was no surprise to me that she was waking up at last. Her face was tight in a wince and her breathing, while sharp before was now, punctuated with small groans of pain and discomfort. Those I ignored as there was little I could do about them beyond what I already was.

When her consciousness returned enough for her to move however I had to react to it. I had removed the straps from her at least an hour ago, the tightness of them only makes her more uncomfortable, and the feeling spreading through the bond into myself. They were also truly no longer necessary since the ritual had been completed, and even when she awoke she would be too weak to accomplish much.

Still when her fingers tried to touch her chest, their intention to remove the cause of her pain a rather obvious one, they only made it far enough to be caught by mine. My fingers wrapped around the first one, then the second when it too tried, and forced them back to her sides.

It of course is not an action she welcomes from me. Letting out a low moan she tries to tug her wrists free from my hands, her body shifting to add to her efforts. That prompts further restraint from my end.

I had been leaning over to her other side to trap both wrists, but now I have shifted to straddling her waist. I can't allow her to struggle as much as she would like. Even as weak as she obvious is, it will only do her more harm than good.

This time the sound of distress she makes actually creating a small bit of amusement in me, as it sounds more like a soft growl. It is followed very weakly by my name. "...Lo-ki...?" The last syllable sharper as a wave of pain seems to hit her, her face breaking into a wince again.

"Yes, it is me, now hush my dear..." I say back softly, keeping my voice low on the chance the volume of it will only make her head ache more. "...you need to rest, you're not well."

She says my name again, just as breathlessly as before while I shift my dual grip of her wrists into one hand, so I can continue tending to the mark of the bond. There is a moment of attempted resistance in the brief second I release one of her wrists, but her movements are sluggish and weak at best.

"No-no..." Even her words seem to exhaust her as she has to catch her breath afterwards, her eyes to seem foggy and distant as they look up at me through half lidded eyes. "Shh my love, relax, you are alright."

I can't tell if it was her deliberately shaking her head or it just leaned far enough for gravity to catch it, making it lull a little to the side. "No..." Her tiny voice is still spoken between heavy breaths, and the occasional gasp of pain. "...not...yours... You took...Kenna..." Her broken sentence also ends with notes of tears.

"You...took..." And it begins to transform into notes of anger right along with the pain, her body straining even harder against my superior strength. "...you took... My baby...you took my baby!"

___So she truly has remembered. What a pity._ Her raising voice is enough to attract the attention of the man beyond the door, the British spy coming in at the sound. My order to him is a simple one and a quick one. "Prepare a syringe for her if you don't mind."

Now fear invades her voice and her tired eyes, the heavy lids widening and gaining a small degree of clarity at those words, understanding in her mind. "No!" Her weak body putting even more effort into trying to get awake from me. "Please no! Please no more!"

I restrain her easily, even offering her a look of sympathy. "My apologies lady Arnora, but I have a need of your power, not your will."

Her pleading becomes even more desperate at that, each little sound escaping on a broken breath. "My Prince, please! Why are you doing this?!" Her use of my title only proves even more soundly that her memory, or the beginnings of it really have returned to her.

"You choose a poor time to become yourself again my dear." Is the only explanation I give her as I rest my other hand on the bend of her elbow, denying that arm any movement is she tries to free her wrists, and making it easier for the spy to slip the needle into her vein.

She cries, an almost scream leaving her when the needle breaks her skin and the chemicals within invades her body. As the drugs slowly begin to take effect, her sobbing protests and struggles wear down is she settles into a numb stupor. Those eyes of hers once again look at me with a blank and dull expression, much like that of a doll. "I am sorry." She doesn't even show any real reaction is I place a light kiss against her soft lips. She only blinks.

* * *

So Nora's memories are back, there in pieces, sort of like what a sludge hammer does to windows. But she remembered one important thing, who at least ISN'T the father of Kenna. And she remembers a little BLONDE boy...and a brown haired man...? Hmm, my memories of biology class are kicking in, pretty sure two brunettes don't make a blonde...anyway lol. Leave a review. Oh yeah, and I'll be putting up pictures on the Photobucket for this chapter, so check em out for a visual on what Nora see's.


	74. Day 8: part 6

I still find lacking it the possession of Marvel. Nora and her Circus of characters are mine.

* * *

___"Then you should be out, celebrating..."_ That is what the Director said to me as he strolled in as if everything was casual and calm about this day, then he handed me a file that just ripped that farce to pieces.

When I woke up this morning it was with the intention of starting to 'move on' today. Or at least take a step. The first was opening that folder. I did that. It only led to a feeling of guilt.

Peggy was alive. Stark, Jones, Morita, Falsworth, Dugan, Colonel Phillips, Erskine, and Bucky were all gone, but Peggy was still here. And I spent a year not knowing that, because I was sure.

Peggy was alive, she was still here. That thought made me so very happy until I realized something. Time passed for her, even if it didn't for me. Peggy would be a ninety year old woman by now. I still looked like a man in his late twenties.

I wanted to call her, I wanted to see her. I couldn't do it though, not to her. Seventy years passed, seventy years of her thinking I was dead. She would have moved on with her life, she would have mourned me. She might have had a family by now, and children with someone. I couldn't possibly fault her for that, I would have and do, want her to be happy. That's why I couldn't call her.

It would be cruel of me to uproot her life like that, just so I can see her. To let her see me again, a young man that she loved a long time ago, returned to her, only in time to watch her die of old age. It would be cruel to us both. She deserves better than that.

I choose to leave it alone. To let her spend her last days in peace, and not turn it into turmoil.

I went out instead, letting the city distract me. This modern, foreign New York. It was all strange to me still, even after a year. The clothes, the people, the general attitude, the technology. Everything seemed like something out of a science fiction novel.

I even heard a man selling 'time' for phones. That brought me a moment of painful amusement. What would I do if I could actually buy back time? All the possibilities such a thing could give my life. They were all cruel thoughts, solely for the fact it wasn't possible.

I walked for a long time, just seeing and hearing the life of the city, experiencing it with as open and unbiased view as I could, taking it all in and accepting that this was normal. Not normal now, just normal.

Eventually, though my metabolism demanded my attention. I stopped at a place called Pershing Square Cafe, a restaurant sitting under the Park Avenue bridge with an outdoor cafe. It faced the clock of the Grand Central Station. A small proof that my time existed, and exists now as well.

I ordered a banana nut muffin and some coffee. I also balked a little at the price. They wanted five dollars! That is still something I haven't gotten over completely yet, the change in currency. I have gotten somewhat used to it however in the year awake, but it still seems excessive as I remember when a nice dinner out cost less than two dollars.

After I finished it they didn't seem too busy I decided to stay. I always enjoyed the Station, and it was nice for a little while to just be able to appreciate a part of New York history. I even occupied myself with drawing the large and ornate timepiece, though it was only on the edge of a paper placemat. I was even thinking about drawing a better one later, perhaps as something for Nora, since she did give me that very nice pencil set. Her gift in response to Jareth. That was a very nice evening, and made for a wonderful Christmas memory.

It wasn't long after that before I started thinking about leaving. The waitress that refilled my coffee was very nice and polite, but despite that it sounds like a rude thought, I wasn't really in the mood for much social activity this afternoon. Then, after the older gentlemen behind me mentioned I should get her number, it became less of a thought and more of a decision.

I thought about that, someday perhaps asking a woman a question like that. Asking a woman for her number, or even to be in a relationship with me. It wasn't going to be today though, I wasn't ready to do that yet. I left before the blonde waitress could return, but I did leave her what I imagined would be a sizable tip, in today's currency. A twenty.

After that I took a train into Brooklyn, just to see my old city again. I found something there I didn't quite expect. So much of what I knew had changed. But this was familiar.

It was a gym, the gym. Its name was different now, or at least a little. It was no longer Goldie's Gym, it was Goldman's now. The exterior looked different too, but it was the place. Bucky and I trained here. When the news of America joining the war came out, it was here we both trained, practicing to become soldiers.

It seemed without question an appropriate place to spend the anniversary of Bucky's death. Once I was inside it became even more so. The interior was surprisingly not modern. I found that I appreciated that. I chose to spend the rest of the evening here. The owner didn't mind at all, especially when I offered him enough money to let me use the place all evening. He handed over his set of keys without question.

That's how I spent my time, beating away the memories, right up until the Director arrived, and uprooted my efforts.

His comment about celebrating may have been meant well, but it only stung. I doubt he realized what this day meant to me. And after all, who I would I celebrate it with, no one was here, not even Nora.

The trip back home was a long one, made longer by the fact I walked. I didn't even really notice the people around me or the life of the city. Though I'm sure they noticed me, after all, I was carrying a punching bag over my shoulder. I also think that inspired them to notice me less. I imagine no one really wanted to stop a man carrying a 200lb weight without difficulty.

At least I had the promise of when I returned home that there would be something pleasant waiting for me. I had every intention of not relying on her for support or comfort today, but now I want to hear her voice. I am even thinking about who I might have to talk about seeing if I can call her. I remember her mentioning her superior's name once, but I can't recall it now. If I can remember it maybe he can connect me to her.

Those are my plans now. My selfish wish before the world demands my service again.

* * *

So, the last chapter was Nora getting 600 years of scrambled memories back, followed by a cocktail of blah. This one is another Steve one, and Ohh lookey, he might be creating a problem soon. Hmm...hehehehe.

Also for anyone who might have an iffy opinion on the fact I introduced another kid in the mix with the last chapter, to that I say this. Six hundred years. The idea that she didn't have anything to do with other children is less plausible than the idea she did.

So with that leave a review.


	75. Day 8: part 7

Once again for the sake of not being sued into a coffin, Marvel is NOT mine, but this fun little character I made named Nora, she is.

* * *

"Nhen..." Is the tiny sound that escapes her, masquerading as a word. It only came out because in her drugged state her perception of the world is dim and sporadic at best, and the fact that I moved her must have surprised her a little.

"Shh..." I offer back, the tone more than the word itself giving her comfort as I help her sit up carefully, one of my hands on each of her shoulders until I rest her back against the wall.

The mark has healed nicely, even if it has not yet healed completely. The edges of the skin around the black boundary of the serpents, who have all but ceased their movements except for the occasional shift may still be red with irritation, but that is hardly a concern. The eagle on my chest has settled down considerably at the same time.

I imagine the ketamine in her veins is also contributing to their docile state. It has relaxed her quite pleasantly, though I will admit a small amount of disappointment at that. I did like her eyes much better when they had emotion in them. It is not however a strong enough feeling to make me regret my decision.

Situating her just a little more for the sake of steadiness I give a silent nod to the blond doctor at my side, letting him know he has my permission to do his job and examine her.

His touch seems to startle her for a moment, her body stiffening as he presses his fingers against her wrist to count her heartbeats. It only takes the press of mine against her chin and turning her face back to mine to calm her.

Caught between my thumb and forefinger, I can feel the weight of her chin press a little heavier into my hold as she rests her head into my grasp, leaving its supported position solely to my efforts. She even lets out a small almost pleased sound at the feel of the touch.

It is one of the side effects of the bonding. Part of her has been pulled from her and placed into myself. Pulled, not severed. It is a connection she can feel, and a strain. It is a foreign and unnatural thing for the body, and it registers it as a strong ache or pain. Her mind telling her muscles and nerves that this spiritual 'injury' is a physical one. Something made greater by the distance between us.

Her body and her drug addled mind both know one very simple thing. There is pain, but when close to me there is less. So my touch, something that once made her nervous and uncomfortable, is now her greatest source of comfort. The closer I am to her the less tension the bond forces on her 'soul'.

It is a condition that only exists with an incomplete bond. If I had finished the ritual as it was originally intended she would not feel this sensation. Her soul is seeking out the energy that it finds itself lacking, trying to pull it back to replace what has been removed. If done correctly it would not do it, for half of my own would have been given to her to fill its absence.

I will have him add something to numb her nerves also. This man known as Terrance is proving a useful acquisition. He has filled the position of a caretaker for her well, a position most necessary.

Now that I have bound her to me I need someone to watch over her, especially when the attack begins. I will not be able to remain with her so I need someone to take care of her for me. She is far too important to be left unattended, even before her memory awoke I knew this. It was always part of the plan to keep her under guard, the drugs in her veins were planned too.

Even if the shock of the ritual had not returned her memories to her, it would have left her in considerable anguish. That alone would have made her resistant and hard to control, and I could not waste my time trying to restrain her and suppress her magic the entire time. The mortal's medicine may not be anywhere near the advancement of Asgard's, but their affinity for chemicals has a great many exploitable uses.

She barely seems to notice the fact that he is touching her skin anymore, her head leaning to the side and resting now in the cup of my hand. I moved my fingers from holding her chin to instead let my palm cradle her cheek, an action she seems quite content with, those dim eyes of hers even closing at the sensation.

I can't help but smile softly at that. While I may enjoy the memory of her strong spirit, seeing her like this pleases me as well. She is docile as a small feline, and almost as eager for the attention as they are as well. In this state her desires are very basic. Warmth, food, water, comfort, and the cool feel of my fingers to drive away the pain.

If she can form any thought within the muddled fog of her mind she will no doubt despise me for what I have done, and if I ever release her from the drugged state I imagine that a murderous mindset may exist. Most find it very hard to forgive one who has ruined their life, and with her I have done it twice.

"Sir, I think she is stable enough for you to leave her now." Comes the culturally accented voice of the human with me, his at least is less irritating to my ears than the others had been. "Shall we test it?"

Taking my attention away from the docile woman in front of me I nod, then turn my eyes back to her while I back away.

The loss of my touch was not something she expected, and even for a moment she leaned forward to follow my hand as it retreated from her face. Before she could lean too far the man caught her, gently urging her confused form back to rest against the wall. What little life there is in her dim eyes shows a hint of her nervous confusion and distress.

It turns to a look of pain, and a cry after a moment. The knife in my other hand tipped red and dripping with blood from where I cut into my palm.

Her little voice lets out a string of small whimpers as he takes her hand by its fingertips gently, but firmly as she attempts a weak, but instinctual pull from his grasp.

It stops when her mind registers the sight of red on her palm and realizes the color means an injury. She looks confused as to how it came to be, and even curios to examine it. Even more so when it starts to close itself up. The skin stitching itself back together visibly beneath her blood.

_It worked._ The ritual accomplished what I hoped it would. With her magic within my control I can use it to heal myself. The part of her power within me seeing an injury to myself is one to her as well. This will allow me to divide the injury between us, minimizing the damage to myself and quicken my recovery as her magic will instinctively seek to repair 'her' wounds, there by doing the same to mine.

"Thank you Arnora..." Those glossy eyes of hers shift a little at the sound of my familiar voice, then close once again as I cup one of her cheeks in each hand, tilting her face up toward mine, stealing a soft kiss that would otherwise have been violently unwilling, but now her numb lips even try to return slightly. ___...You have given me such a gift._

The only proof of her true existence remaining within her is the small amount of tears I can feel dampening her skin.

* * *

So last chapter we had Steve, this chapter is Loki, and the next chapter is 'Dun! Dun! Dun!' NATASHA again, with a little bit of Banner interaction. So I hope you look forward to it and I am not loosing you with what I am doing in the story.

Please is always leave a review, I love when I get them and pout when I don't.


	76. Day 8: part 8

My apologies for making you wait for this one. Marvel is still not mine, Nora is, moving right along.

* * *

"Do I...really make you that...nervous..." The voice of my fellow passenger draws my attention away from the tablet in my hand. I had pulled it out of its form fitting holder on the wall as soon as we got on the plane, well after I made sure the doctor was secure and banished agent Blake to the cockpit much to the annoyance of the pilots. Once I had the files from Coulson sent to my phone I moved them to the SD card before removing that to plug into the IPad, so I could see them better. "...Miss Romanoff?" It was how I planned on passing the trip, until he finally spoke.

As my eyes turn to his he offers me a small almost apologetic smile before he moves right on to elaborating. "It's just that I couldn't help, but notice your right hand has been fidgeting..." He doesn't say it out loud, but the observation of it being my left hand also comes with the fact that it is the side my concealed firearm is on. His years running from the authority have given him a very sharp eye for details like that.

"...the entire flight, so it is either I am making you very nervous, or what you are reading on that screen is making you very upset?" He asks, his tone making it a question more than the statement like words themselves. They also leave out the fact that the fidgeting he mentioned, which I only just realized I had been doing, is probably not something that inspires him to be calm.

I stop immediately.

That helps relieve the tension in the small atmosphere of the cabin right away. But I can still sense that his question hasn't lost its desire for an answer. It gives me questions of my own.

What do I tell him, if I tell him anything at all? He doesn't know Nora, and she doesn't know him either. Or at least not really. She knows his name, and his 'condition' because she is part of S.H.I.E.L.D. There isn't really anyone is S.H.I.E.L.D who doesn't know about 'Dr. Banner, the man with the Hulk inside him'. She even has an opinion on him, since she was awake during that week of chaos where Culver and Harlem happened, and knew I was there.

When I returned to S.H.I.E.L.D with Sterns she saw me, still in torn and blood stained clothes. I was quick to pass him off to the other agents to deal with, both so I could reassure her I was okay, but also because I saw a twinkle of wonder appear in his eyes when he looked at her. I made sure that she was never allowed within 20 yards of that man's location after that.

She had been so worried about me, listening to details come in about what had been happening and knowing I was there. She never met banner, and if she had she may have liked him. She likes everyone. But given that his actions got me hurt, however indirectly, she couldn't help but hold that against him.

There is also the fact that he doesn't know her, not even her name. She is just an imagined individual within the mass that is the organization of S.H.I.E.L.D. One of many faceless and nameless people he knows must exist in the operation but nothing more. Unless I tell him.

___Do I do that? Tell him who she is? Or even what she is? Do I give away this classified information?_

If things work out the way Fury wants there is a strong possibility they may meet. Fury wants the cube back. It means he wants Loki captured as well, or killed. It means the same for Nora, given what I've been reading.

Fury sent me to bring in 'Bruce Banner', but with him comes something dangerous and uncontrollable. Fury knows this too, we all know this. We know it so well we made preparations. He knows that too.

Banner is no idiot. He is a genius in the scientific field, and a fugitive. He is looking at every event in his life through a lens of suspicion, one even I can't convince him to drop completely.

But as much as the 'Hulk' scares me I know he isn't a completely mindless thing. I saw it at Culver. He actually put himself in harm's way to save a woman, arguably it was a woman he loved, but the fact remains. He remembered enough and had enough control to go from destroying to protecting. ___Do I bargain on that possibility?_

That part of him might remain enough for him to recognize someone. An innocent person, one who isn't a threat. Can I really count on that idea, that he could possibly recognize someone enough to not attack them if he does become the Hulk and encounter her.

_No, I can't._ There is no way to measure that, no scale or percentage I can put to that. It is that realization that makes my decision.

Lifting my eyes away from the picture on my screen, a pair of mossy green eyes with portions of brown and a gentle smile, I turn to look at him instead. "When the cube... Was stolen from us... We lost people as well."

The expression in his eyes shifts from inquiring to sympathetic. "I am sorry to hear that." I offer him a bit of a smirk at that. I imagine up until now he never really held any fond feelings toward members of S.H.I.E.L.D, as we once helped those hunting him down. But even with that he doesn't seem like the kind to hold it against an individual for doing their job. "How many lives were lost?"

"Eighty... And three." My peculiar way of answering catches his attention, and his expression asks the question instead of his words.

"So far we have counted eighty deaths linked to him"I tell him as I begin pulling up files on the screen to prepare for him and transferring them to the other Ipad on his side of the room, indicating such when my eyes flicker to it. He doesn't miss my hint and picks it up, his eyes taking in the information of the attack at P.E.G.U.S.A.S.

"But in his escape he also took three individuals, he seems to have the ability to enslave someone's mind..." That pulls his gaze from the little screen with a raised eyebrow, proving some things can even surprise a man as unique as he is. They drift back quickly when I send him another file, the image I had been looking at.

"One of them, was a woman I think of as my little sister." ___There is no way to measure the chances this will do any good. Just like there is no way I will risk the chance that it might, and give that up because I didn't take it._

* * *

_Another Natasha POV for you fine folks. I hope you enjoyed it, and the inclusion of some Banner interaction. Well, please leave a review. They have been lacking lately, and I hope it isn't because people don't like my story anymore._


	77. Day 8: part 9

Is usual I do not own Marvel. Nora and her travelling companions are in my possession though.

* * *

"Get out." The words are spoken with a deceptive sort of calm, but do nothing to hide the aggravation in my eyes as I all but storm back into the room. The mortal resists the urge to inquire at my sudden change of mood, a decision that only benefits his continued existence.

His quickness to do as he is told aids in the fact he continues to live as well. The sound of his quick footsteps and the door closing invaded my ears in a painful way, but then there is silence. A blessed thing against the migraine hammering in my skull.

That foul thing that calls itself 'the Other', I can still feel the touch of his psychic attack in the confines of my skull.

I have felt the pressure of his beckon against my mind for several days, but choose to ignore it as I had a greater interest in giving my attention to things that were not him.

I wanted to complete those tasks first, so I could drive all thoughts of them from my mind. My sweet little trump card, it would not do for that thing or his master to know of her existence. I am no fool, I am only their 'ally' because my involvement makes their own plans simpler. Why dirty your own hands for something you crave when others will do it for you. I may not have much respect for Thanos, but I can respect that brand of logic.

Then when I finally did grant him an audience he greets me with arrogance, and a great lack of respect. Instead of addressing me as he should he merely stated a complaint. The Chituari were restless, as if their anxiety for battle was a concern of mine.

The banter with him was irritating and unnecessary. This servant, which is all the 'Other' is, only addressed me so in an effort to please his master, a master who needed no pleasing. If Thanos was truly so impatient with my delay it would be he who I would be speaking to not this vain creature who thinks that because he speaks for his better that he is one himself.

He even went so far as to come at me, only to find in the very weapon he spoke so fondly of threatening his throat.

If it were not for my need of the Chituari I very well might have considered giving in to the idea of showing this vain creature what proper respect is, but I doubt very much Thanos would appreciate the death of his little herald. But in truth even that much attention is more than the Other deserves, and my patience is not so short as to be driven to violence by someone so small.

Even his attack was not sufficient enough to inspire it. He showed me the meaning of pain. How amusing, that he thinks his strength is anything to what I have endure. I fell through the vacuum of space, a headache is nothing in comparison to that.

The approach was a silent one, but with the manner my head ached even those soft steps were loud enough to alert me, and her soft gasp when my hand violently captured hers.

Letting my eyes open and enduring the discomfort of sight I find her standing on unsteady feet in front of me, her wrist caught tightly in my grasp, and her dim disoriented eyes as full of surprise as the substances clouding her mind will allow.

Yet even with my hand wrapped around her wrist, the fingers pressing into her still soft flesh with force enough to bruise, her own continue to stretch, straining to reach their goal without success.

It is her voice though that calms me, a very simple sentence, spoken slowly and softly as if the words are confusing to her. "...it... Hurts...?"

The anger leaves me at that, and my grip releases her. She is not the cause of my hostile mood, she should not suffer for it.

I find myself needing to catch her once my hand frees her wrist. The removal of it was startling enough to her dim senses to threaten her already shaky balance. Honestly, that she is on her feet at all is a small wonder.

Taking each of her upper arms in hand I steady the sway of her body, her own hands gripping as tightly at the leather over my shoulders as her current state will allow her. She even lets out a small nervous sound, somewhere between a whimper and a squeak.

"Shh..." Even as I whisper that soothing sound I can't help but feel the tug of a smile at the edge of my lips. It is perhaps a cruel reaction from me given my responsibility of her current state, but I find myself amused by the almost childlike manner she displays now. "...it is alright my little one, I will not let you fall."

Her current state of perception makes her seem to doubt those words as she continues to cling unsteadily to me, if she even registers them at all.

While I take care not to startle her overly much it is not something I am able to avoid entirely given my actions. As gently and steadily as I can I wrap one of my arms around the middle of her back, and the other, bending as little as possible, finds the hollow behind her knees.

She almost seems to be trying to suffocate me with the way her arms wind themselves around me, displaying a surprising moment of strength for her condition. "Ah! Hehn!" Came a small attempt at words as her body tenses up in anticipation of a fall that won't come, her face hiding itself against my collar no doubt scrunched up in fright.

"Shh..." I say again, whispering it as much as I can into her ear at this angle while I make each soft step to not jar her into greater fright. "...there is nothing to fear, you are only floating..." Letting words of simple logic slip past my tongue.

Still it is not until I bring us over to the small bench and sit, position her in a seated position within my lap that I finally feel her begin to calm down. Her weak attempt at a crushing grip relaxing more into a resting position over my shoulders. But it seems not an entirely comfortable one has found her yet.

She lifts her head, the motion taking on a gentle sway from the effort of holding it up. "Mhn...hurts..." Her hand that rises. Her fingers strive to brushing with a slight skip before fixing against my forehead.

Feeling the first tickle of magic I rest my own hand over hers, securing her fingers in place as she drives away the headache, an action that benefits myself as well as her. It is even more appreciated though because she chose to do it.

I could have pulled her magic myself and driven away that fool's touch from my skull easily enough, but I had no real need to waste the magic on something so insignificant. I didn't want to be guilty of overusing her gift.

But she did it, even if in a drugged state, of her own accord. She healed me. Having the foresight that ridding me of my suffering would free her of the discomfort plaguing her at the same time.

"Such a sweet woman you are..." The hand that was pressed against my temple drops away limply when I release it from beneath mine, but this doesn't startle or upset her much as the hand drifts to her skin, lightly cupping her cheek and chin, with the thumb resting just below the swell of her lower lip. "...my Arnora."

Her eyes drift a little more open at the sound of her name, a small "Mh" sound leaving her parted lips. They flutter back closed while I let that thumb trace delicately at the smooth line of contracting flesh where her skin meets her lip, drawing another sound from her, but this one with a distinctive sound to it. _I believe that was the beginning of my name._

That draws a smirk from me, this time an honest one. Pulling my head back a little my focus, which had wandered a little, returned letting my ears pick up her soft stumbling words spoken on heavy breaths. My eyes picked up the rest by the movement of her lips.

She entreats me to stay, to stop the pain. "Oh..." The smile becomes a bit of a rueful one. I have never been a sadistic person, causing one pain for the sake alone of pain. There has always been a purpose behind those actions which comes to harm lives not my own, a purpose or gain. But while I have such a purpose and gain in this woman's suffering it does not mean I can't also be merciful

"...my little love. Shh now..." She continues, her ears slow to register the meaning behind the sounds they hear. I wrap her a little closer to me, one hand wrapped around her waist while the other is still beneath her chin, tilting her head to the side and offering me the warm skin of her neck as I whisper one last set of words into her ear. "... I will stay. You will feel no pain now..." Then words drift off, from both of us.

* * *

Another Loki for you. PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW! I'm beginning to wonder if I blocked them somehow, lol... No seriously, I am.


	78. Day 8: part 10

Marvel in all its glory is still not something I own. Nora and her traveling buddies are.

* * *

_Do my job, stay professional, that's all I have to do._ I recite to myself once again. I've been saying it all day. When I went to Stark Tower, and endured the usual treatment one receives from Tony Stark. I was pretty much aware when I pulled up to the building itself that I was probably going to have to hack into the security. I had the equipment already in hand when I made the call, giving Stark the chance to let me in and make the conversation that would follow a little easier.

He didn't though, as I knew he wouldn't and forcing me to hack into the security system. The ride up the elevator was a trial but when I was greeted by Miss Potts it certainly took some of the weight off my shoulders. Stark was always much more cooperative when she was around to temper his personality a little.

The drive to Laguardia was somewhat less stressful as well because of her presence. The conversation distracting me from the anxiety in my head.

Ever since the incident with the iron monger and the press conference she has kept in touch. She was thankful for our help, even if we were not really the ones responsible for saving her life. She wanted to know how my relationship with Ana was doing. That at least was a topic I didn't mind.

Even though at the moment I was no longer dating her, I harbored no ill feelings toward her. She had a wonderful opportunity come up, a concert hall that if I remember right was called the Arlene Schnitzer wanted her. It was a chance for her to play professionally, I encouraged her to take it, even if it meant she would have to move to Portland.

She had the talent. But in a city like New York it is hard to get noticed, just because there are so many others with similar levels of talent. In Oregon she could start to make a name for herself, and slowly work her way up the ladder from there, but she needed to take that first step.

Unfortunately, having a conversation makes time seem to pass quicker, and the drive to the airport was only going to be about a fifteen minute one to begin with. Our arrival signaled the end of the conversation, and after a few parting words, my distraction.

My anxiety came back, and my annoyance. If I feel anything it should be excited, not nervous. I am nervous though, very nervous. It is my job to meet Captain America and escort him to the carrier. I should be thrilled, instead I feel more like spending the next hour in a stall.

As insane as it for me to think it, I almost wish the director hadn't given me this assignment. It feels more like a punishment than a privilege, and for the life of me if it is a punishment I can't figure out what I might have done to earn it.

I should feel honored that this task was given to me, that Fury finally thought it was okay to let me meet a man I have idolized since childhood. It used to be, and would be still if not for one 'very' big fact. Nora.

She is still missing. The Captain's friend, his best and possibly only friend, and she is still missing.

He may have been awake for the last year, but in that time he has kept his distance from people. He of course interacted with S.H.I.E.L.D personnel during that time, whether for check ups on his health or being tutored about the changes in the world, but he never really connected with anyone.

Nora was the only one who seemed to manage that, and of course she did it effortlessly. Making friends was never hard for her, in fact for a while we were concerned with how easy it was. The Captain proved to be no exception to that rule either. Not that I can blame him though, even I, knowing all along what she wasn't, had a hard time not finding her a likeable person.

I even went against regulations for her and adjusted her privileges. Though I can justify that as I did it more for the sake of the Captain than hers, it doesn't change the fact it happened. I don't regret doing it though, making sure she could keep that kitten, it made both of them happy, and that was enough. I just hope someday I will be able to return it to her.

That's my wish, in regards to her. I am hoping we find her, safe and sound and in control of her own mind. I am hoping we get her back, and find her still the same woman she was before this happened. I hope we can return her to the Captain. I hope we don't have to kill her.

That's my biggest concern, or one of them. That we will find her compromised, and have to act on Fury's order to take her out of the equation. She doesn't deserve the hit that has been placed on her head, no matter how necessary I know it is.

He doesn't deserve it either. If we do find her and she is turned she will be killed, it's that simple. The complicated part though is what it will do to the Captain. If she dies he will have to be told, and I'll probably be the one to do it. Both because I would feel obligated, because she is my subordinate, but because Fury would want a high level agent to do it.

It would ruin him, psychologically speaking. He lost everything he knew, and loosing one of the few connections he made since waking up would be absolutely devastating to the Captain.

I don't want to be responsible for that. I can't be. Fury should have chosen someone else for this. I can't do it.

If he asks me about her, I'm probably going to tell him. I don't think I could hide it from him, not because I don't know how to mask my emotions or spin words to hide the truth, but just because it is him.

This man is my hero, the last thing I want to do is something that might make him miserable.

These thoughts are driving me crazy, making me even more anxious about his arrival in the next hour or so, I have even begun to pace in circles.

Stopping my feet I take a deep breath and close my eyes, letting it exhale slowly. I need to calm down. I am an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D, a trained and skilled profession. _Do my job, stay professional, that's all I have to do._ I tell myself again, before I decide to head into the bathroom, and do something to get rid of this nauseous feeling in my stomach.

* * *

One more chapter down. This time it was a Coulson POV. Next one will be a Loki POV again, and following that will be another Natasha POV. But more importantly is anyone actually still reading this? It's been like 6 chapters that haven't gotten a review or a watch, and I'm beginning to wonder.


	79. Day 8: part 11

I still own nothing that is Marvel. But I guard my claim to Nora and all that relate to her.

Also, to whoever the guest who left a review. Wow, that's awesome, you like my story like its crack, lol. Maybe you should make an account, cause if you do you can fav it, and it will alter you when I update.

* * *

I heard his approach by the sound of his footsteps outside the door, and before he even made the motion my voice made his knock of announcement unnecessary. "Enter." the tone of my voice a much more encouraging one than it had been when I banished him from my presence.

After a small pause, which doesn't even occupy the entirety of a second I can hear the hinges of the door grind softly against themselves and his footsteps continue within to the room. The movement of the door also stirs a breeze in the otherwise still air, its light brushing felt against my once again bare back.

The shirt and jacket, as well as the pauldron, have been discarded for the sake of comfort, the mark has healed well enough to no longer be considered an injury, but the flesh of the lines is still tender even if the lines have closed and the creature has ceased to move.

I had been content in this manner, standing in casual dress enjoying the feel of the soothing cool air against my skin. One of Idunn's apples is in my hand, half eaten as I idly let thoughts of the future and memories of simple delights flow together in my mind. I had been content, until I noticed the continuing absence of his voice.

Turning now to my invited intruder I find the cause of his silence to be exactly what I suspected it was. "If you think she is a worthy sight to be the last vision your eyes behold, then please, continue to look." It is warning. I will give this warning only once and it needs no further explanation. She is mine.

Those heightened blue eyes of his snap to attention and to mine. Even my approach back to her side doesn't make them stray. "My apologies sir."

I wave off the words casually, truly no longer caring now that the threat has been delivered, and his behavior has improved. The dismissing wave also doubles as a sign of my impatient desire for him to get on with what he came here for.

While he begins to speak, an action I only half acknowledge I continue to cross the small distance between us, my focus on her, a far more pleasant distraction.

It is not hard to see why she drew his attention.

She is sleeping at the moment, the mixture of ketamine, morphine, and general exhaustion putting her into a pleasant state of unconsciousness. It is not so much that she is sleeping though that caught his attention, as how.

I left her with her body stretched over the padded cushion of the bench, one of her arms bent under her head to pillow it while the other eventually moved itself to hang limp over the edge, and her bare back exposed to the air. The white cloth of the lab coat she had been wearing resting over her, covering her from the expanse of her lower back and down to her legs, her feet peaking out from a moment of shifting.

Any man of any race would find his attention drawn by such a sight. I can acknowledge the truth and predictability of that. It doesn't change it though, that this woman is now mine.

I possess her, and I will be the only one to do so. It will, from this point on, be something that is known without question, _whom she belongs to_.

As he finally finishes informing me of his purpose here I dismiss him with his orders. The team of scientists are in the final stage of assembling the machine that will open the portal. Once that is done it will mean it has come time to abandon this facility as well. It means I will be one step closer to leaving these tunnels and making myself known to this little world's inhabitants.

He leaves without any further words, still having the sense in him to tell by my expression alone that his welcome has worn thin.

Once he does leave, with the echoing click of the door sliding into place, my attention returns solely to her. _She is not ready, not as she is now._

As lovely as I find the sight of her sleeping, I have a slightly different vision in mind for how I plan to present her to the world.

I want them all to know. Not only those who serve me, or those who know her, but those who do not as well. I want it to be very clear and without a doubt that this woman serves me. I want her to look the part.

I have been giving the design of it some thought over the last few days, forming and altering it within my mind. I finally settled on a concept that pleased me, and now with the final steps closing in so quickly it seems like an appropriate time to take it from an idea in my head and make it an actual thing.

Turning to the side I let my hand claim the collar of my leather overcoat. It will do just fine as a base to create it from, and after I finish I can easily create another to replace it. Taking the collar of the white cotton coat covering her in the other hand I remove it from her skin, earning a small slumbering protest and making me smirk. To ensure her rest I warm the leather as I set it in its place over her skin, this time making her sigh contentedly.

Letting my hand hover over the back of her hair I start there, my fingers slowly trailing over her form and creating her new attire in their wake, the edges of the jacket melting and reshaping themselves to my will with a warm golden glow.

This first addition that appears on her is a crown. She is no warrior, nor do I have any intention of allowing her to enter into this battle, but if I am to claim her at my side then she must appear as such. I model it to fit her Vanir heritage, a ring of golden leaves, bent in an open circlet and formed to hug her head.

To go with that adornment I next add a pair of earrings, the clasps a work of crafted gold and holding the tip of a peacocks feather in them, one of Midgard's more intriguing species of fowl, known even among Asgardian's for their coloring.

Moving lower, my finger trailing the path of her spine once it clears her hair, it begins the next article of clothing. This one a vest, cut to go no lower than beneath her bust line and sit snugly. This I make of a dark brown leather instead of black, a small detail of distinction between us. It is trimmed on the edges in gold, and on each side there are two straps for decoration, one is gold and the other emerald green.

Moving lower still I add a corset, to set slightly beneath the vest. The tooled leather of it is the same shade of emerald green, but for the cups I make those with a different level of material. They are also leather, formed to shape, but over them on either side is a layer of brown brocade silk. This too is trimmed in gold, the edges formed to resemble leaves as well.

At this level I also add a pair of tooled leather gauntlets, trimmed in a golden ivy pattern, with a layer of green silk beneath them to protect her skin, the emerald silk also extends from beneath her vest in an open sleeve, and connects with the silk at her wrists.

Reaching her waist I add a belt, the material the same shade as the silk of her corset. The chocolate colored silk wrapping around her, resting lightly above her hips, and gathered into two pieces of sculpted gold that when hooked make the shape of an I.

Extending out and downward from beneath that belt are fold after fold of green. Each ridge hanging vertical and cut to be shorter in the front and longer in the back.

Beneath the heavier fabric of her skirt I have also included a pair of leather boots whose height extends up beyond her knees to a triangular point, but given her unsteadiness have minimal height in the heels. For her comfort as well beneath them I have also included a pair of brown slacks made not of leather but cloth.

The last item I add, after surveying all of this and finding it is truly to my satisfaction, is a cape. Resting over her shoulders and only hanging to her waist is an emerald green cape and hook whose clasp and chain are small spheres of black metal.

All of this looks rather fetching on her and will convey by image alone the fact I want it to, that she now serves my will. But even more so about this outfit that will drive that point home is the part I did not cover. The mark on her chest exists now, in clear view of all. My mark, resting over her heart.

* * *

So there is the Loki POV is promised. The Natasha will be up soon. So how do you like it? What do you think? Do you possibly want to kill me again, maybe...? Also there will be new pictures up on the Photobucket. Link is on my author's page. Enjoy.


	80. Day 9: part 1

I still do not own Marvel, much to my disappointment, but anyways, lets carry right on.

* * *

I knew exactly why I was told to intercept the arrival of Captain America when I saw that familiar suited form walk out the back of the Quinjet. Coulson was slipping, or at least enough so that Fury wanted me to intervene. I have a feelng the director was listening in on the conversation during that particular flight.

He knew why I was there too, when his eyes met mine beyond those glasses there was a small but visible stumble to his step as he finally stepped off the ramp.

His introduction of the man in the brown leather jacket was unnecessary and full of fan club admiration.

_Captain Rogers._

My greeting to him may have been a little more clipped than necessary for two reasons. I was still upset over all the information I read during the flight back here from India, and I needed to separate Coulson from his hero sooner rather than later.

I could tell he was reluctant to walk away, not only because it meant his time with his hero was done, but also because he was worried I might say something to this man about our mutual connection. _He didn't need to, I know better._

I am still an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D, no matter how close I am to Nora. I understand the logic behind not telling him. Unlike with Banner, if I tell him she is missing not only will he figure out quickly exactly who is responsible for her being missing, but he will want to know the why as well.

That is something he cannot know, the truth about Nora. That knowledge could have a counterproductive effect on his mental well being, given that she is directly connected to the men who were his enemy.

_No, Coulson has nothing to worry about. It is not something he wants, not something S.H. wants, and not something I want._

After Coulson walked away though I couldn't help but look this man over. _So this was him, the man who became my sister's friend in my absence._

This is the first time I've actually seen him. I was of course aware that we had found Captain America in the ice, but I have been out on assignment since before he woke up.

The files I read though have given me some insight is to what happened while I was away, and _friend_ might be the wrong word for it. _Nora might love this man._ That is an assumption made by the way they documented each encounter she had with him. They were and are both too high profile to ever really not be under surveillance after all.

For the same reason I can't help but wonder if he loves her back.

Some of the things they did, if it weren't for Nora's unique condition, would be seen in a romantic light. He bought her a kitten for Christmas. He took care of her on New Year's Eve. She baked a cake for his birthday. They spent nights in each other's company, cooking dinner and watching movies and she bandaged his wounds. _He was good to her._

Everything I read about when he was with her could all be narrowed down to those few words. He was good to her. She deserves someone like that.

None of this shows though, these thoughts not transferring to my expression or body language as I inform him of just how much his earlier escort admires him, and give him some sort of warning of what to expect in the future.

I also bring us back in the direction of my original charge, not willing to leave the doctor unattended for too long.

My need to introduce the doctor was taken from me by the Captain himself. He recognized Banner by name, no doubt from the files he looked at during the flight, and the fact it is rather hard to blend in on a military craft when you're dressed in a brown suit and loafers, with a purple shirt.

Banner too took over the introduction, recognizing the man who was one of the inspirations behind his work.

Seeing as they were getting along just fine on their own I left them to it, more than happy to stand by idly and observe the situation. My observing though was cut short by the voice in my ear notifying me of the impending take off.

I allowed myself a little amusement when I suggested they go inside. I remember my first time seeing the carrier rise into the sky, I remember her reaction too. It's no doubt going to be very similar to their own once they figure it out. The hellicarrier is something that is very impressive to everyone the first time they really see it.

I even let myself smirk while I escorted them inside to the control room, even though with my back to them they had no way of seeing it. Except for one brief moment when I looked, just for the sake of seeing their expressions. They didn't disappoint.

That is where my attention drifted. On one of the monitors was Clint's picture, the face trace running again, scanning the latest set of satellite photographs on the chance that he made the mistake of letting them see him, something very unlikely for Clint to ever do.

I pulled out the progress bar on it, seeing where it was at in the search, well all the while listening to the conversation going on behind me. So when the director asked me to escort Banner to the lab it didn't surprise me, in fact I was already standing up from my crouch and waiting for it.

I was looking forward to it. Not because I wanted to spend more time in the presence of the mild mannered Dr, but because of what I knew would come after.

Once I got him to the lab we designated ahead of time for this and informed him that if there was anything he needed the authorization had already been enacted to clear him for it, he only needed to ask, I was able to leave him.

I turned on my heels without a second thought. I have a different man now in mind to visit, but he is in the medical wing.

* * *

Woohoo! Day 9! We are getting closer to the end. Now I will just remind people, since I used a certain word in this story (love) it doesn't mean it is a romance. It only means that there is the potential for it, or was before Loki came into the picture.

Also, at this point I am beginning to work on the prequel or prequels to this story (I haven't decided if I want to divide them up based on each individual movie or make it a lump sum), but anyways, I have a request. Keeping in mind Nora woken up with no memory, concept of social norms, or being able to touch people, what are some things you would like to see her discover or experience for the first time?

I have a few things planned, but ideas are always welcome. Well, you know the drill, leave a review.


	81. Day 9: part 2

Nothing new, I still don't own Marvel. Nora is still mine. Moving on.

* * *

"Get me out of here." I knew it would happen eventually, the interrogation from S.H.I.E.L.D. I wasn't patient about it though. They were taking too long.

It was just doctors so far, sticking needles in me and running scans as I tried to out muscle the restraints keeping me tied to this bed.

I didn't have time for this. All their tests and drugs. I didn't have time for treatment, or to worry about the pain I was in. I just needed to get out of here so I could find her.

That need just kept building, even while I was unconscious. I woke up, and I swear that feeling must have doubled. I _needed_ her. They _needed_ to let me get her.

When he came to me after she ran from that car he put that spear of his against my chest again. He made it stronger, he made it grow. If I thought that I had an attraction to her before it was nothing compared to after. He made her my addiction. I don't just want her, I need her. She is like heroine, not having her here hurts.

That shocking head of red hair in the doorway is like a sign of salvation when I finally see it. I know exactly who that is. That's why I made that demand.

* * *

I knew some of what to expect before I even entered the room. The guard outside of the small medical suite informing me of the status and condition of the prisoner within.

I knew he was awake. I knew he was injured. I knew his condition was 'unique'. I knew he was under the influence of the scepter. And I knew he was obsessed.

The guard told me he was 'asking' for 'her'.

That bit of news was infuriating as much as hopeful. I read the report. The blood on him was not all just his own, quite a bit of it in fact was hers. But if he was demanding her presence, it meant she was still alive, at least when he last saw her. It also meant there was a chance that he would cooperate.

The demand he made the second I entered the doorway wasn't really a surprise to me either. Nor to anyone else in the room. It may be the case that this is the first time he has spoken it to me, but it has not been the first time that they have heard it.

For the moment I don't even really acknowledge it. "You've worked with us before..." I only idly reply to his words while I look over the file in my hand. MI-6 sent us his classified file, albeit with much reluctance, after they were informed and convinced of the situation. The order had to be given via a Council member. " ...Agent Pierce. You know our protocol with prisoners."

His response, if any I had expected, is not the one he gives me. "That's not my name." but is unexpected as it was it isn't enough to throw me off my game.

As the last of the doctors leave the room, and shut the door behind them I take a seat, pulling the stool up to the left side of the bed. "Well officially it is, but very well, which alias would you prefer Alexander?"

"Using my name huh?" He almost sneers that response. "You think that will work? Familiarizing with the target and creating a sense that you empathize with me and see me as an equal. Piss off lady, you're not my type."

"I see..." His attitude is of no concern to me, nor is it a surprise. He is a spy himself, and in enemy hands at the moment. It is only natural for him to analyze everything with a suspicious eye. "But that still doesn't answer my question. Which name would you prefer."

There is a small huff of amusement before he answers. "The one she called me. Duncan."

"Very well.." I skip over the addition of the name this time. "...you seem rather focused on her, Miss Elaine. Why is that?"

"Because she is mine!" The level of emotion in his voice is expressed in his muscles as well. His arms straining against the heavy leather straps holding him down, the force he is exerting making the damaged tissue there bleed from the pressure, but he barely even seems to notice, beyond a small hiss of discomfort. "Nora is mine. That woman is supposed to belong to me."

"And do you normally employ violence against the things that belong to you?"

"Hey! I didn't hurt her, I was taking care of her dammit." this time his strain against the straps is punctuated by sharp tugging and swearing when they refuse to give.

"I see. So explain to me then why exactly, if you were taking care of her, that the majority of the blood on your clothing, was hers?"

The look in his eyes at that does surprise me a little. He lets his taut muscles relax again, the arms resting now without a struggle as his head also droops. "I didn't do that okay..." his voice sounds miserable, and guilt ridden, as well as full of emotional pain. "...I don't know what happened to her, I found her like that."

"Found her how..." I angle my head a little to get a better look at his eyes, studying them for any deception in those tired looking glowing eyes of his. "...Agent Blackwood?"

They shift. His head shooting back up with a sharp look in them, but not an angry one. "Look, I. NEED. TO. FIND. HER..." each word in that sentence is over emphasized, spoken almost in a hiss as his eyes look at me with nothing but pleading. ".. She's not safe. I'll tell you whatever you people want."

I don't respond to that, and it only makes him upset. "Please!" again he is straining at the straps. "Dammit! I know she is important okay! There's got to be a reason he took her too! I'll tell you whatever I know! The killer! The scientist! What do you want?!"

My silence continues, my mind studying everything in the situation and rating the sincerity. "You think you love her."

"I do love her!" there is nothing but a look of honest and pure offense in those eyes, that I would dare even question it. "Nora belongs to me, I'm gonna take care of her. Please?" and once more desperation as he is forced to accept the limits of his reality. _He can't do what he wants without his freedom. Without my help._

"I'll tell you whatever I know. You have to help me. He is gonna kill her, dammit, he's gonna hurt my girl!" those unnatural eyes of his are open. There isn't a hint that he is hiding or shielding his intentions from me. The training he has as a spy is not being used at all, he is acting only as a man, a normal man, who thinks what he feels is love.

I know it must be only the scepter's influence. The man I see tied down in front of me is nothing like the man described in the file I have on him. _But I really don't care._

He is all but throwing his cooperation at me, begging me to take it. "You mentioned a killer..."

* * *

Now I know EVERYONE pretty much hates Duncan, but I still have potential uses for him so get over it, lol, He is still alive. Also, I am taking a little longer putting them up because I am trying to keep everything in time with the movie now and it involves a lot of checking.

Well, that's all I had to say so please leave a review.


	82. Day 9: part 3

So I still don't own Marvel, but I am stubbornly hanging on to Nora. Now time to read on.

* * *

_A very violent nature indeed._ Following his short list of requirements he elaborated and gave me his suggestion in terms of a plan. One I can honestly say I approve of.

I could choose to remain operating in secret, taking this man, a Dr. Heinrich Schafer, and bending him to my will without theatrics. That is an idea far too boring for my tastes though now, given the delightful plan the assassin has come up with.

I want these people to know me, not only S.H.I.E.L.D but every mortal on this planet. I want a message to be sent, and I want that message to be no less than shocking to all who see it.

To take a man's eye will accomplish such a thing. Though I will admit a small amount of distaste at the thought of such carnage, it is overridden dramatically at the idea of the level of chaos such an action will inspire. _They will be no less than in a panic, the humans who see it._

"That will be..." Lifting my head up, I let my eyes leave the sight of the floor, and my knuckle pressed to my chin in contemplation, to look instead at the agent. "...quite the entrance indeed Agent Barton." a smirk spreading over my lips as I imagine even more the response it will receive. "I think it will do perfectly."

"Thank you sir." By the tone I can tell it's said more out of a sense of formality than a true appreciation of the small compliment I gave him. The professional nature the scepters influence promotes in him prevents him from feeling much of that, or anything. With the exception it would seem of his enjoyment in violent acts.

That very same professionalism is what inspires the following words. "We need to crash a party in Germany. Traveling by plane would be the best route. The only problem is the radar, just making the plane invisible won't be enough this time."

I ignore the sense that he is questioning my abilities because I know for a fact that I know he is not. He is not capable of such offensive behavior. He simply is not aware of the extent of my abilities. "That is no cause for the concern agent, I assure you. Whatever means you people have of monitoring the sky, I can easily overcome them." _If I can hide my presence from the eyes of Heimdall, then going unseen by this radar will not be a problem._ "Those arrangements I will leave to you."

"Yes sir." With the method of travel determined he continues to move right along. "In terms of men, I'd like to keep my team small sir. Once you make your move and get that eye, when S.H.I.E.L.D finds out who we killed, they will go straight to that facility."

His logic in that regard is sound enough. Even the force of S.H.I.E.L.D will be able to make the connections quickly. The building holding what we need is after all in joint possession of the same surname as the man I plan to blind.

"Will five soldiers suit your purposes then?" His answer is a quick nod. "Yes, five will be perfect."

"What about the little Queen sir?" It is the wording that gives me pause for a moment, not so much the fact that he asked about her.

"Little Queen..." By my tone the words I repeat are clearly not a question, and so he refrains from saying anything.

The thought is an intriguing idea, one I even entertained lightly prior to his mentioning. The woman is Vanir, no matter how diminished she has become, that I can fix with time. She is also without a doubt mine now, and something I do not plan on relinquishing in the future. She is also here.

I would never stoop to the level of taking a mortal as a partner. There lives are too short and their bodies too weak to ever serve me any good in that regard. Nor do I see any chance of claiming a woman of Asgard, now that I am truly an outcast of that place. The risk and effort of stealing a woman from that realm is far greater than its worth. But she is here.

She is already in my grasp, and control. I can control how much power I let her wield and how much I restore her body to its natural, and undiminished state. That I find her a pleasant sight as well only makes her more appealing as a candidate for the role.

In fact, I can hardly think of anything to sway that opinion. She is all but perfect for this. _Perhaps this once I will bow to the hand of fate and simply accept it._ But that is a decision for after, when this realm is mine.

Looking back up at the agent I let my smirk vanish in the place of a more serious expression. "...she will remain here, in the care of the Spy, along with the rest of these men..." my gaze drifts a little when I notice one of the scientists walks by, his hands parting the heavy plastic curtain and separating him from our conversation. "Until the Tesseract is ready to move. But she is no longer your concern, we don't want to be late after all."

That brings a grin to his otherwise neutral face. The thought in his head no doubt involving the deaths and suffering of others. "No sir, we don't." I don't need to dismiss him verbally, he is almost anxious to reach that goal.

With his course of action set and any necessary preparations on the machine that will open the doorway being dealt with by the Nordic scientist I find my attention bringing me back to the quarters with her in them.

The Spy known by Terrance is already in the room, keeping watch over her in my absence. He has her sitting up, or more correctly leaning, her back resting against the wall behind her. His hands at the moment are pulling the thin metal line of a needle from her skin, and wiping the tiny drop of blood that beads out of the wound. She only makes a tiny sound, as much of a response ad she can give at the moment in her lethargic state.

He too operates with a similar sense of professionalism. His question making it apparent once again. "We are almost ready to move sir?"

My answer to him is a simply smirking nod, the real object of my focus being the woman who was so casually called a Queen. Kneeling down in front of her I take the time to study her once again, smiling a little more when I see her eyes are trying to focus on mine. She only startles for an instance as my hand cups her cheek, then she lets the effort of supporting her head become mine.

I can hear him vaguely behind me as he continues to speak, informing me that despite appearances she is still able to be move in her state, the amount of drugs only enough to keep her disoriented, but not inhibit her motor functions.

"Very good..." I give him his orders, though my eyes don't leave her while I do. "...when the Tesseract is ready I want you to make sure it is safely transferred to the truck. Once it and the scientists going with it depart, you and the soldiers you deem to take with you are to kill everyone else before you follow."

Now I turn to look at him. "I will not tolerate any loose ends." The order of execution doesn't even make him blink. "Yes sir, of course."

* * *

So we are moving right along, and once again I am re-establishing ho much of a jerk Loki can be. yes, he is killing everyone. No, he does not have a thing for earth girls (sorry fangirls everywhere, I love Loki is much is the rest of you, but I really don't see him 'settling for a lesser species' is he would likely see it).

Well, this is where you leave a review.


	83. Day 9: part 4

Moving right along I do not own Marvel and any way shape or form.

* * *

_Nora didn't call... _She didn't call, she didn't keep her word. Now when I think that I am in no way calling her a liar, I know she isn't one. I wouldn't anyway because that would be rude and disrespectful of me, to think something so poorly of a woman who has always treated me well.

But it isn't like her to not keep her word.

Now I am aware the day has not finished yet, and that things here, and most likely everywhere within the organization, are in a state of controlled chaos. I can understand that, and how it might be a reason that she hasn't been able to yet. It doesn't feel right though.

I have this nagging feeling, it's only a little one right now, but it's still there. Its still present in the back of my thoughts. _Something is wrong._

It would me so much easier if I could just remember who she said she worked under. The problem is that, even though the name isn't coming to me, she has told me more than one. She has had more than one superior in her time since she woke up. They have transferred her around is cases required the agent above her at the time to go out in the field.

So I think I have somewhere along the lines of five different people to track down, to figure out who is her current commander, from a list of names I maybe heard her mention a few times in passing. It becomes even more difficult given that she preferred to use call people by their first names, and all the agents here respond to their last names.

It's frustrating me, my inability to remember a name I need. Especially giving everything that has been going on.

I did manage to catch one of the agents, asking them if they could find any information on a remember by her name. The response he gave me was whether annoying, I was passed off, to the agent currently at my side.

Agent Coulson, the one who met me at the airport, was at least polite. He informed me that the name I asked about about wasn't on the list of fatalities or those hospitalized, which was a relief to me. Though he also informed me that give that the attack only happened less than two days ago, that not everyone had been able to return to base yet. And in the current state of emergency all unnecessary calls were prohibited.

Hearing that was a bit of a relief. At least I had the knowledge that Nora was okay. But I still couldn't shake the concern that I hadn't heard from her at all. Which is why I am still trying to recall the name of the agent above her, if I can remember that I might be able to get more information on her. Its why I am also only half listening to him talk about his card collection.

The beeping sound attracted both of our attention, and the Hispanic looking man at the computer turning to make sure we noticed. "Got a hit, sixty seven percent match. Wait, cross match, seventy nine percent."

The trading cards were forgotten is the agent who was standing next to me heads over to the terminal, falling right back into the process of being part of this organization.

I fall back into sync too. Is much as I want to see Nora when she does arrive here I know this is more important. She will understand that, how it is my duty to help stop this man, to protect people. To protect her. If this Loki does use the Tesseract there's no telling what he could do with it, and I won't let that happen.

The location I hear doesn't even change that. _Germany..._ Is much is I never wanted to return there I would still do it if I was asked, and I am asked. The director's voice got my attention and made me turn to look at him. Two simple words were all it takes to decide the direction of my future."Your up." _Nora would, regretfully, have to wait._

* * *

"So you know nothing of where he is going?" The question is just as annoying to him is it is to me. Yes, he may have been giving me information, but nearly every other sentence out of him is about how Nora belongs to him, and I'm really becoming tired of it.

I also get the feeling that given the overly possessive mind set he has about her, if he ever did get her, he'd probably rape her. He wouldn't see it is that though, he would only be proving his affections.

"I told you dammit, he didn't tell us the next step until it was time for the NEXT STEP!"

Coulson's voice in my ear is a welcome relief. For more reasons than one. "Natasha. We found him." I completely ignore 'Duncan' after hearing those words, much to his displeasure. My feet standing me back up and taking me to the doorway.

I only stop long enough to give my instructions to the guard. "Make him shut up if you don't mind." That is an order I can tell he has no problem with following, no doubt he is just is tired of listening to the altered MI-6 agent is I am. I can hear him calling the doctors back is I walk away.

"Okay, talk to me." I reply back, knowing Coulson was waiting for me to leave the earshot range of our prisoner before he continued. "We located Loki, he is in Germany..." Before I can even ask he adds "...we still haven't spotted Clint but he is no doubt in the area is well."

Before I can make my request, which we both know really wouldn't be a request he tells me something that I am finally glad to hear. "Don't worry, you're going."

The sentence immediately following though makes me slow my steps to a stop for a second. "We're sending the Captain with you."

While his sentence implies the captain is coming with me I can tell from his tone that it's the other way around. I am going with him. They choose to send him first, and me to back him up. I know exactly why too. "He asked about her didn't he Coulson?"

"Yes..." There is an irritated sigh on the other end. "...he did. Fury wants you to run interference. He can't know. I'm sorry."

* * *

So there is some captian, with a little bit of Natasha thrown in. I hope what little there was of Duncan was in there is okay. I ntended more but it just wasnt working, so I'll do something with him later. Anyways, is per the usual, leave a review.


	84. Day 9: part 5

Still own nothing Marvel, now here's some Clint for your shameless pleasure.

* * *

He has 'me' going on a mission that involves killing people. I am oddly okay with that this time. Me, not 'it'. Now don't get me wrong, it's thrilled with the idea of it, having a chance to inflict the carnage it's so fond of.

I like the idea right along with it, but not for the same reasons.

I'm being separated from her, which is a good and a bad thing all at the same time. If not with her I can't hurt her, but I can't protect her either.

I'm looking forward to a chance to vent my frustration a little, even if those guards I'm sure to kill have nothing to do with this and don't deserve to die. They're just going to be the unlucky nameless faces that came in to work tonight. The unlucky ones I'm going to pretend are him.

I can't fight this thing's control yet enough to stop it from doing what it is going to do, so I'm going to accept that inevitable reality and pretend like each person I kill tonight is Loki. It will be practice for when I really kill him.

I don't know what he did to her. I just saw her, unconscious and being tied down, by my hands. She looked so innocent, and calm. Like she was just taking a nap. Even when they put needles into her skin, she barely reacted at all.

It was a shock to me, when I saw a single drop of water appear in my vision and land on her skin. I cried, for her. My body, which still wasn't mine, and lied to her, shed a tear for her sake.

I was coming back! It was only a tear, only something tiny. But it was hope. Hope that those words that 'I' spoke to her, which were meant to be nothing but a lie to make her cooperate with this bastard, might actually happen.

I was so furious watching her believe 'me'. I kept yelling at her for being so stupid to think I would ever tell her to give up and wait. I couldn't really blame her though, that situation was hell. What else was she supposed to believe, scared, tired, and weak like she was.

Oh god, her damn hands. Nora always had soft, pretty and delicate hands. The kind a piano player or an artist should have. And now they have scars on them! Pale white, almost silver scars, and if what he said was true they came from my knife.

I believe it. I shouldn't, because there couldn't have been that much time, but I do. Just like I believe she saved my life. Nora was always special, we never knew the specifics but we knew that. We were waiting for that, for the day she knew too.

It's the only thing that makes sense. Nora was that strange, gentle warmth I felt. I mean it makes perfect sense really, what else would her magick feel like after all? Nora is a healer, and what else would she be really, now that I think about it. She cares too much and too deeply to ever be something else.

She carved into her own skin because she cared so much. Not just one hand either, both. That means after the first hand was cut to ribbons and probably already an agony to her, she wrapped that hand and those torn muscles around that blade, and gripped it, just so she could do it again!

Just for that alone I wanted to kill him, for driving her to that. Now though, I need to kill him.

When that door closed, and I wasn't in there with her, and it was just him. I could hear her screaming. She was drugged and unconscious, and whatever he did to her was still horrible enough to make her scream.

Those guards won't deserve what is about to happen to them, but this time I don't care. All I have is rage, and I won't fight this thing's desire for blood now. I'm gonna join in right there with it, seeing his eyes the whole time. Because a 'Little Queen' is a Princess.

* * *

"Have you diverted all commercial flights yet?" I ask via the Bluetooth in my ear as I await the arrival of the Captain. I made it to the hangar first because I was closer to begin with, but also because I am no stranger to the carrier and its layout.

"Yes ma'am..." Is the quick answer of the woman on the other end. Her voice still has a hint of a French accent behind its English. It isn't an important detail, but the spy in me still notices it. "...all civilian and commercial flights have been rerouted to insure you the most direct route. The estimated flight time is now two hours and seventeen minutes."

"Good..." That is the word that leaves my mouth, though the one in my head is a little different. I think it's too long, but the quinjets are a little slower than a MIG-31, and quieter, much quieter. If we are going to sneak into Germany to catch this Loki by surprise, we need it to be quieter. "...Sitwell?"

The shift in conversation isn't unusual at all, and his voice appears. "Subject has yet to leave the area..." The business like tone of his has now altered just a little. "In fact I believe he is showing off a little."

This man is confident, I'll give him that, if he thinks baiting S.H.I.E.L.D is a good idea. "I've already redirected the satellites. If he moves I got him, don't worry. We have got eyes on the whole country now."

I don't answer that one because it doesn't really need a verbal answer. I have worked in tandem with agent Sitwell enough for him to know my opinion on that.

I am also distracted by the arrival of the Captain at last. I'll give it to Coulson. He looks like a real hero in that uniform, though I still find myself at odds with that mask.

"Miss Romanoff." He greets me, ever the gentlemen that I have heard he is, and out of respect for that I return the politeness. He took care of her for us after all. "Mr Rogers..." my use of his name seems to startle him a little, the change notable to my more clipped reply earlier. He doesn't let it slow him though, and neither do I. I motion him to get on board, both of us knowing the other is anxious to see this done, though not all knowing why.

Not even when Sitwell's voice is again in my ear do I let him see me falter. This time the tone is almost a whisper. "Natasha... I don't see her." _damn it._

* * *

So there was some Clint, with a peppering of Natasha. What do you think? Good? Bad? Meh? let me know, and until next time, enjoy.


	85. Day 9: part 6

I still do not own Marvel, just like every other chapter before this has stated. I do own Nora and her band of buddies.

Now so no one is confused, even though you'll probably notice it quickly either way, this is going to be a think back chapter.

* * *

It took me a moment, almost a moment too long, before I realized the sound I was hearing was my phone.

They gave me that phone out of necessity, in case anyone needed to get a hold of me. It hasn't really ever been used since then though. S.H.I.E.L.D hasn't needed me to save the day, and I don't really have anyone to call, so it mostly just sits there.

But then there was this strange sound in my apartment. It sounded a bit like what I have heard comes from those hand held games I have seen children playing with. At first I thought maybe it was just coming through the wall from one of the neighboring apartments.

By the time I did catch it, it seemed I caught it at just the right second to confuse the machine, the answering machine turning on even though I could still talk on the phone.

In the middle of the "Hello, you have reached 718-535-3414, we are unavailable to take your call at this time, please leave a message after the tone." I am saying, rather forcefully and quickly. "Don't hang up, I'm here, it's lying." And listening to the confused voice of a woman say my name.

The sharp beeping sound that suddenly assaults me ear makes me unable to recognize the voice for a second, but then it says my name again. This time I now exactly who it is. "Nora?!"

There is a distinct and awkward pause on the other end, making me wonder if I somehow accidentally did something to end the call. Considering how I still haven't figured out how to do half of what this thing is 'supposed' to do I wouldn't be surprised. Then to my relief the silence is broken, but with a small unsure voice. "Is this a bad time?"

"No, no..." I reassure her, still finding it strange that I can hear my voice coming back out of the machine at me. "It's just..." This time I am the one to trail off, another one of those ear splitting beeps in my ear. "...I hate this phone. Are you still there?"

"Yes, I'm still here" Comes her voice in response, this time spoken with a laugh. But then in the background I hear another voice. At first it is louder, but then it dims dramatically, giving me the vague impression she covered the phone on her end.

That makes me slightly suspicious, that she doesn't want me to hear something, especially the voice sounded like a man's.

"Nora?" But while I can't really hear her end she can hear me apparently. Her words, while still a little muffled reply to mine. "One second Steve." She tells me quickly, then continues talking to whoever she is with, saying something about change before it is muffled again. The muffled sound is even varied now, more like a static, which once again has me wondering what I've done to the phone.

"Steve? You still there?" But then when she speaks again it sounds just fine.

"Y-Yeah..." My response comes out a little hesitant as I look at all the buttons before me, trying to figure out what one to push to make the speaker stop projecting my voice from the part of the machine still sitting on the table. "Sorry, this phone is confusing me again. Did you need something?"

"Oh no. I'm just out taking care of my to do list. I just wanted to make sure I didn't loose you while I paid for the delivery." There is another pause filled with what sounds like something swishing. "So how have you been?"

"I've been alright..." When I say I've been alright I'm also telling her there haven't been any bad days. I would never lie to her about those, it's just something we don't talk about unless it needs to be talked about. Neither of us has any desire to constantly bring up unpleasant things, even if we don't avoid them either. We both deal with them when they happen, as they happen.

" ...Thank you. But if you're busy I wouldn't want to inconvenience you, should I call you or come by later?"

There is another pause, but in this one I almost swear it sounds like she stifled a giggle. "When have I ever been too busy for my friends? Besides, if you did call back later I wouldn't have anything to do but sit here in your hallway and wait."

There was going to be a response to that, until my brains processed those words. Instead once they do I just turn and leave the living room to head down the narrow entryway hallway. I can hear her humming, both beyond the door and from the phone that still hasn't been hung up as well and I can't help but smirk. The face that appears when I open the door is smirking too.

She is dressed in an unusual manner, which is saying she is dressed normally. It isn't really strange the way she dresses, considering how many different styles I see on people now, it's just different than I am used to. Nora's fashion choices are probably considered pretty normal to most.

She is wearing a white t-shirt with a multicolored crest on it, the creatures are some sort of dragon or lion, it's hard to tell the way they are shaped, but in the crest is a V/\ and below it the letters RVCA. Around her neck she has a bulky silk scarf that is a lime green and deep pink color, with at least half a dozen alternating patterns all meshed together in it. Over that to offer her some sort of protection from touch, but still not make her too hot in the late summer heat is a knit mesh cardigan jacket, with large holes between the weave. I can also make out under her scarf quite the collection of chains and beads around her neck. the chains are various sizes and have some trinkets attached to them, one peaking from the side appears to be a bird. The beads are in various sizes too, and many shades of purple.

Her jeans are, as usual, full of holes and worn out spots, and today are folded up to just below her knees. Her legs aren't bare though, she has a pair of thin stripped socks on to protect her skin. Her footwear today is a pair of leather sandals, which have the straps made of various colorful pieces of rope.

Also on her are yet another pair of her almost ever present gloves. In private or when in familiar company she has begun to be able to leave them off sometimes, but out in public she still needs them all the time.

Then last, but not least is the accessory I find the most interesting and amusing. A very worn out fedora that looks like it might have been made with brown burlap.

"Hello Steve." I of course am not so rude that I don't greet her back, even if I am surprised to see her. "Hello Nora."

"How did you get here?" This is why I am surprised. Well S.H.I.E.L.D no longer restricts Nora to the area of whatever base she is stationed at, and even gave her off base housing, she rarely ventures out on her own, given the kind of city New York is. It is just too crowded for her comfort most of the time. "and I thought you were paying for a delivery?"

"Oh! I'm the delivery." She says it so casually, as if almost dismissing that detail as unimportant, before adding "Can I come in?"

That makes me blush a tiny bit in embarrassment and forget my desire to ask exactly how she got delivered. The realization that, no matter how short it may have even, I was just making her stand in the hallway. "I'm sorry, yes, of course, come on in." I tell her, moving out of the way and motioning my agreement at the same time I hold the door open.

In my embarrassed state I even consider for a second asking if I can take her coat. The words even start to come out, but I catch myself before the last one does, and swap it out for her hat instead. Nora to her credit doesn't seem to notice it, not out of rudeness by ignoring it, but more along the lines of not bringing attention to it to make it worse. Instead, she just agrees and removes her hat then hands it to me, adding in her handbag as well.

This isn't the first time she has been here so I am far less concerned with how the place might appear to her. However I still feel the need to say "If I knew you were coming over I would have tidied up a bit more."

That however only makes her laugh gently, which at first I find a little confusing. Though she doesn't take long to explain. "But you never let things end up out of place, expecting company or not."

I have to give her that one, she is right. Growing up in the depression like I did we never had very many things, but with my mother sick like she was what we did have was always put up so it wasn't in the doctor's way. Then at the orphanage we had to clean our area and put away our things every time we weren't using them. The time I spent in the military only reinforced that habit.

It still doesn't change the fact though that it just seems right to make the place look better if a woman is coming over. _Speaking of..._ "So did you need something?"

"No, not really" She says with a smile. "I just came to ask if you wanted to go out with me." This time my blush returns from its brief retreat, and about half a second later her eyes widen a little with realization at what she just said and a blush claims her cheeks too.

"Well, uh Nora...

"I mean, that's not..."

"...You're a wonderful girl and everything..."

"...What I meant to say..."

"...I mean lady, not everything..."

"...It's just maybe, if you want to I mean..."

"...You're just you, which is wonderful and..."

"...Would you possibly like dinner"

"…Dinner?!"

Both of us stop our frantic overlapping speech, hers driven by her need to correct the mistake in phrasing, and mine driven by my misconceptions.

That's one thing I have noticed with Nora, and to a degree gotten used to. She has improved with it since she moved off base, but every now and again she says things that sound the wrong way, just because she doesn't know better.

That was one of the down sides to being restricted to S.H.I.E.L.D for as long as she was. It didn't give her the opportunity to become familiar with certain social interactions. In this case how certain casual interactions, while meant innocently, can sound like flirting. Well they are uncomfortable when they do happen I will admit it is almost endearing too, to see a lovely woman who is just as awkward with that as I am. I will never say that to her though.

"Yes, dinner." She confirms back, the blush coloring her lightly tanned cheeks retreating back from her skin. "I was wondering if you wanted to get something to eat, unless you had other plans."

"No, no. No plans that can't wait." _Or no plans period really. _"Uhm, were you thinking of anything particular, because I don't have much here." The truth is I have nothing at the moment. I have to go shopping soon for the few items I stock in my fridge, and if she is planning on cooking something we might have to stop somewhere else too, since I don't own much more then a deep frying pan that I use for everything. "But I think there are a few grocers around here."

"Oh, we won't need to go shopping. I already have a place in mind." Now that's surprising. Nora loves to cook, in fact I had to convince her that going to a restaurant was okay the first time I suggested it. I also had to convince her my suggestion of dining out had nothing to do with my judgment of her cooking skills.

She thought I was saying her food wasn't good, which was the farthest thing from the truth. I personally think she might be a better cook then some of those cooks in the kitchen at the base, and from what I heard, those chefs had to get a culinary degree before they could be eligible for the position. So when she suggests going out to eat without any coaxing it's a bit of a shock, and a concern.

"Nora, is everything okay?"

"Yeah, it's fine..." Her response starts out convincing enough, but as it continues I can see her mood fall visibly. "...it's just, sister's day."

Now I understand. It wasn't too long ago, July 24th I believe it was, that parent's day happened. Nora, bless her heart, had always taken care of me on my bad days without question, but had planned on suffering through her own alone.

She managed to get away with that during father's day, only because I wasn't aware of its importance to her. It was ten days after father's day that I learned about her condition and why they pitied her. _She was alone too, in a world she didn't know either._

She got away with spending father's day alone only because I didn't know. But when parent's day rolled around I didn't let that happen again. I owed her better than that, for all the times she took care of me.

I tracked down her quarters on the base, something that took me a little more effort then I would like. The people I asked once again didn't seem to want to tell me too much. They also seemed to form an interesting opinion about why I was so keen on finding it out.

I never did like that, how they seemed so interested in making guesses and rumors about her. She deserved better than to be the conversation at the water cooler.

When she opened the door I could tell. She wasn't crying any longer, and there weren't any tears on her cheeks, but I could still tell she had been. Her smile wasn't quite the same as before.

She didn't ask why I was there, or how I found out, because she was always smart like that and could just tell those things by looking at someone. She just asked if I wanted to come in.

S.H.I.E.L.D is a military operation, so the room they gave her reflected that. A bed, a night stand, a closet with some draws, a small bathroom, and a little table with two chairs. I took the chair option. Sitting on a woman's bed seemed, then and now, something too impolite and personal.

She was at the time, writing a letter. She told me it was for her parents, a bit of information she volunteered without my asking. She said she was telling them that she was okay. That she was being taken care of, and that they didn't need to worry because she had a family now, that her 'big sister' was someone they would know and trust to take care of her, an Agent Romanoff.

When that name popped into my memory I was elated, and furious with myself at the same time. Nora never liked to use last names, because they were too impersonal, but that time, she did, I think that was the only time I heard her mention it, that's why it was so hard to remember, but now I do. I remember the last name of someone very close and dear to her, someone she calls a sister, and I have been in this woman's company for hours without knowing it, sitting here quietly so I don't disturb her while she pilots this plane.

"Miss Romanoff I..." I want to ask about Nora, about if she knows anything. But as she responds back to me it isn't with a tone that suggests she has any intention of answering my question. Instead she lets out a word in an angry hiss, one that sounds like it might have been Russian. Then she turns to look at me, as much as she can where she is sitting.

"Captain, he has people on the ground, you're gonna need to jump."

* * *

So there is little bit of Captian for you, and a look at some Steve and Nora interaction to give you an idea the kind of relationship they had, especially from his POV. Now here is the part where you leave a review and let me know what you think.

Also if your wondering, yes, this is before she bought the Captain things fo his kitchen, and before she had moved of base.


	86. Day 9: part 7

Well look at that, another chapter I DONT own. all possession, is usual, is Marvels. I only play here.

* * *

How very tempted I felt, to declare her to them, and how very interesting I find it, that they do not ask.

There was fury in me when I lost my own footing to the redirected force of my blast, but when I looked back up, I couldn't help but feel a bit pleased at who I saw. _They sent 'him', a symbol._

I recognized who it was immediately given the agent's description. The soldier who slept, the man out of time. This man was and is a symbol for an entire nation. His defeat would be all the more worthwhile just because of that. You can spend your time whittling away at an entire armed force, but with the destruction of even just one symbol you can do as much, if not more damage. That is the power of a symbol, the psychological effect it can have.

It is the very card I love to play.

There was an extra bit of delight in it for me as well. I will admit I am rather possessive of things that are mine. So having him be the one to confront me was a pleasant turn of events, just because it gave me the chance to destroy someone who dares to have a claim on something they have no right to.

Oh what a moment it will be when I reveal her to them. Dressed in my colors and bound to my will, this woman they call a friend, and family. I'm almost anxious in my eagerness for that moment. But not so much that I will reveal my hand yet. Hers is still a purpose best kept a secret.

The blow from the armored machinist was a painful one. Even if I am of a much more sturdy and dense build than a mortal, having a hard angled surface drive into one's spine is never something that can be called comfortable. I imagine it will leave a nice bruise beneath my armor, and on her skin.

Or it would if I had actually let it transfer. I decided not too, there was no need. While it may be a discomfort to me it is really not so much that I can't endure it easily. Better that I save this connection between her for greater injuries.

It was even more amusing, and tempting when they escorted me on to their craft. The plane landing in the plaza I so kindly helped them vacate, and both the soldier and machinist flanking me as I calmly walked aboard.

It was her actions though that brought me the most delight. I could see it, her look of searching in my eyes while she helped secure me to the seat.

Barton told me of how attached he and herself had became to Arnora, but he also told me how well kept a secret she was, how they never told her what she wasn't. She wants to know what I've done with her, and her partner. But in the presence of that man who is a living symbol, she can not ask.

* * *

His capture, or surrender more likely, is to my great relief. It's for more than just the fact that we have him now though.

I managed to keep the Captain from talking to me during the flight by conveying a sense that I was very busy and focused. I made him think twice about distracting me, even if leaving him to his own thoughts might not have been a good idea. It worked though. Then when he did almost ask me something, I had the fortunate timing to get Loki in view.

We saw him, in the middle of a plaza surrounded by civilians. That's why I told the Captain to jump. We couldn't have him killing people. With us in the area it would make it an international mess. So I swung him over the area and circled back around to get him in the sight of the guns.

That didn't do much though, because there were still people around. I couldn't very well open fire on him with a flock of panicked civilians, or the Captain in the way.

Loki's presence here now is also what is keeping the Captain from asking whatever he was before. His silence now all but confirms my suspicion it was going to be a questions about Nora.

The Captain isn't foolish enough to discuss something like that in front of an enemy. He is staying silent because he thinks his lack of talking about her know will keep her safe. If Loki doesn't know that he cares about someone he won't go after that person. It's smart, except Loki already does know about her, and already has her.

The only thing the Captain's silence is really doing is not giving Loki a reason to bring it up.

As an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D I don't want him to bring it up, the fact that he has her, a friend of Captain America's, and reveal that we knew this and said nothing.

As a friend of hers, I just want to beat it out of him. I don't use violence to get information, but I am really considering pulling a page from Clint's book and giving it a shot, just because I can see him smirking at me with those eyes, knowing that I know.

My other concern is Stark. He knows Nora, or at least of her. He met her once, and then preceded to make her put her arm through a window to avoid hitting him. I personally think she would have been justified in breaking his nose for grabbing her hand like that, but Nora doesn't hurt people. _With the exception of that spy at least._

Duncan's recollection is somewhat vague given that he only remembers her standing over him with a branch in her hand, not the actual event of it striking him in the face.

Stark on the other hand has a better memory. After it happened, Nora started to receive gifts from an 'anonymous' source. She of course figured out who it was, just given how closely following the event they began to show up. She was even smart about it, and already considered having them examined even before Clint ordered her to turn all of them over for debugging.

Tony also seemed to remember her even longer than that. When his date with the senate hearing came around her called up S.H.I.E.L.D asking for us to provide a date, since he knew we were 'going to crash that party', he even made a mention of that 'cute little tour guide'.

Stark may not know about Nora being something other then human, but he doesn't have too. Just the fact that he knows her name could be an issue. One that I am listening for. Instead, however good or bad it is, he seems more set on just insulting the Captain.

* * *

The banter they were exchanging was entertaining enough to keep me from being bored during this flight. They seemed for the most part uninterested in talking to me, and I was alright with that. I don't need words to affect them, I can already see evidence of it without them. Just being in the scepter's influence is affecting them, making their emotions a little more volatile, something they have not even become aware of.

My thoughts on that stop however when a certain sound reaches my ears. _Oh dear. This promises to be unpleasant..._

"What's the matter, scared of a little lightning?" Even that question, however condescending it may be, is not enough to sway my attention from what I know to be coming. It seems I might have to make use of her skills soon after all, I don't see this being a polite encounter in the least.

* * *

So, I'm finding that righting in the constraints of a scene that is not originally mine has a little difficulty, so if it seems not up to par I apologize. I am trying am trying to take my reality and Whedon's and force them to melt into eachother, hopefully I'm doing a good enough job of that to please you. Is always, I hope to see your reviews.


	87. Day 9: part 8

So another chapter for you folks, moving right along or trying to. I do not own Marvel. I do own Nora and her odd menagerie.

* * *

The last round echoes off the chamber walls, albeit only a quiet sound with the aid of the silencer.

We gassed the facility first, a guard at each exit to catch any that tried to outrun the cloud of poison, but now for an extra level of surety we are systematically putting a bullet in each head. Loki was very clear that no one was to be left alive, with of course, the exception of those coming with me. And the woman.

She is still drugged into a state of delirium, an IV feeding it drop by drop into her vein, with the bag itself secured to her upper arm by some duct tape. For now that is more effective than giving her an injection every hour or so.

The rate of her metabolism and overall different physicality makes her burn through a larger amount than I expected. Given how much I have used on her so far, if she were actually human, it would have stopped her heart.

It's fascinating to me really, especially given that according to Loki she has greatly diminished from what she should be. Even being weak as she is, she is still superior to a human. The medical training and skills in me can't help but wonder how much greater then we are Loki might be, from a strictly academic standpoint. I know it would never happen, but part of me would be very curious to see what testing would reveal about him, and his limits.

He would never permit it though, nor should he. Being a king and leader he would be above such a thing as to subject himself to testing like that. Though perhaps after her purpose is finished, if he has no further need of her, I may yet get the opportunity.

All of that is unimportant at the moment though, because it has nothing to do with my current job. It is only a hope for the future, and if it happens it will happen, but it is nothing I need to focus on now.

Walking over to where I left her I unscrew the silencer as I go, putting the gun back into its holster so it does not alarm her.

She is still heavily under the influence of the drugs, so her sense of perception is questionable at best. I don't want to risk the chance however that her mind recognizes what she sees as a weapon and upsets her, after all the reason for the drugs was to keep her calm.

I don't want to alarm the doctor either.

I understand the importance of Mr Selvig's work here and how much he is necessary to Loki's plan, but his presence is still an annoyance to my own work.

He was not in agreement with the actions I just took, the extermination of the now unnecessary number of workers. Just as he was not entirely in agreement with the fact we decided to drug her into the state she is now in. Fortunately though, despite his disagreements with our plans he doesn't have the will to disobey his orders.

With the gun now put away I turn to him while he is kneeling next to her, fussing in nervous concern to make sure she is alright. He is the one I speak to as well, since he will actually be able to respond.

"Doctor..." For a moment when his eyes turn to me they almost look hostile, but it passes with a blink and is of no concern to me. "...have you finished securing the device yet?" I in no way need him to be fond of me to do his job.

"Oh, a, no..." His expression shifts to a look of sheepish embarrassment now instead as he rubs the back of his neck a little. "...not yet, I was getting some men to help lift it, but, well, I thought she looked cold."

His concern for her is not that surprising considering he had a relationship with her prior to coming into Loki's service, and sure enough it still exists.

Looking around him slightly I can see that he seems to have found a spare jacket somewhere, and given the small splatter of blood on its sleeve he might have even taken it from one of the bodies. That he would still care enough to do that for her is unexpected if it is true, because he is a scientist, not a soldier. For him to be worried enough to overcome his disgust and revulsion at touching a corpse would mean quite a lot.

He had buttoned the first few buttons of it to keep it from falling off her, as she is in no shape to keep it on her shoulders by herself.

It is a kind enough gesture between old friends, but unnecessary. While it may be true she appears to be shivering I doubt the majority of it is from being cold. It is far more likely her shivering is from the drugs, but he doesn't need to know that. Telling him something like that will only upset him and put us behind on time.

"Yes, well she is fine now, I will take care of her from here." I tell him, deciding to just leave the jacket on her for now since it doesn't really matter. Then I turn and catch the eyes of a soldier nearby. "You, find a few men who aren't busy and go with him."

The soldier is quick to do as he is told, and after another moment so is the doctor. He only paused long enough to tell the woman sitting there with empty eyes that she didn't need to worry, I was going to take care of her, and he would be back later.

She even seemed to register that to a degree, but far too slowly for it to matter. After he had turned and retreated at least twenty feet away her hand came up. The motion and stability of it faulty when she reached out. Even her lips moved, mouthing what must have been his name.

She would have continued as well if I had not intervened. The reach turned into a stretch, and I could see her leaning forward. Before she could fall off the bench in the process I stepped forward and steadied her shoulders.

"Don't worry miss, he isn't going far." I tell her to reassure her. But looking in her eyes I can see it is pointless, whatever moment of clarity she had is fading and her eyes are dulling once again, even while she repeats my point. "Not...far..."

"Yes, that right." I speak again, on the logic that a voice alone will mean more to her than the words themselves. "Now we need to get you on the truck okay. Loki is waiting."

That name means something to her, as it would no doubt mean more to her than anything else I might say. Again, she repeats my words. "Lo...ki... go to..." Her words fade into mumbles once again as she drifts back into her mind, not even seeming aware that I gently urge her to stand, guiding her steps with one arm stretched around her shoulder and the other cradling her arm between us.

Erik. There's a face, it's in front of mine. I know this face. It's called Erik's face. It likes to smile at me, and tell me stories.

It's broken now, I think. Because it's smile isn't working. Its mouth has turned upside down, the sides drooping at the edges. I wish I knew how to fix it, but I don't know what's broken.

If I could remember what the words were, I could fix it. The words were whispers in the air, before the face was gone. I miss the face already.

If I remember what the words were, maybe I can bring it back. What is saline?

* * *

So a couple notes about this chapter. First, HUZZAH! Erik is becoming Erk again, slowly but surely. Yes folks, you heard right, Erik is starting to slip Loki's noose. Now obviously he is still not free, but he has put a crack in the shell and is slowly working at it.

second. go Erik, for giving Nora an edge. I'm going to assume you all caught that but if you didn't, I'll explain. SALINE SOLUTION. that wonderful liquid that doctors put in your IV that actually doesn't do anything, it just dilutes the other stuff in the IV. like, for example, Nora's mind numbing cocktail of doom.

And last but not least. Terrance. Now I didn't really give this guy a personality up this point cause he wasn't gonna be that important and I never even thought he would get a POV, but I wanted to give him one. While I was writing this I noticed something, and any one you who are into anime might catch it too.

Terrance has light hair. Terrance is a spy. Terrance was under cover. Terrance is now working for the other team. Terrance has skills in the medical field. Terrance want's to run tests and experiments on people. TERRANCE IS ^#&% &#% KABUTO! Fml, I did not mean to do that. What has been seen will NEVER be unseen. Anyways, moving on, leave a review, I'm gonna go be frustrated in a corner lol.


	88. Day 9: part 9

_S_o because I was told that I could leave my corner I decided to it a two for one special today. Here you go. I do not own Marvel, now read on.

* * *

_He doesn't take us seriously. Not even a little._ I suspected it before, after I couldn't touch him, but he gave up with one hit anyway when Stark arrived.

I am not being vain when I have this thought, but I know Stark didn't hurt him if I couldn't. Stark may have his suit, I will give him that. A man encased in metal will always do more damage than someone who isn't.

But I couldn't scratch this 'man'. I am supposed to be the peak of human fitness and strength, the very strongest and fastest a human being could hope to become. That is what the serum was supposed to make me. I couldn't even knock this guy off balance.

Then one hit from Stark and he is ours, and while I found it suspicious I was okay with that. We got our man, and, truth be told, I didn't want to fight him anymore. For the first time in my life, since I became Captain America, I knew I would lose.

It was humbling. I never got conceited or cocky about my new found strength. I always planned on the chance of defeat, just in case, so I could work around it when and if it happened. I never thought I was invincible. I knew I wasn't. I still bleed and feel pain like any other man, and anything that bleeds can be killed.

I just never had it happen before. Even with the red skull. We were pretty much on equal ground in terms of strength. This guy hit me, and it felt like I was in an alley in Brooklyn again, with nothing but a trash can lid to aid me.

Then 'Thor' came, and Stark followed them. I followed Stark. I told them to stop, and I told him to put his weapon down. There wasn't really any other option than to tell him that. He was still at that point an unidentified hostile. If it wasn't for my shield his strike would have killed me, as it is my arm is numb and sore.

It leveled a forest instead of me. And through all of that, he just sat there.

He could have escaped, he should have escaped. It would have been the perfect time to really, but when we approached him on that cliff he was just sitting there, one knee bent up and his arm resting on it. He looked almost bored as he said "Well that was entertaining, are we leaving now?"

Thankfully Thor managed to shut him up. Before I, or Tony could grab him it was the other Asgardian who did it, taking him by the lapel on my jacket and hauling him to his feet.

Even more of a blessing was that after that he didn't speak again, choosing to be quiet much like he had before he was ripped out of the plane. He did however on occasion sport a tiny smirk. Most of which he sent in my direction, and toward Miss Romanoff's back.

I was glad to just get off the plane by the end of the trip. Being trapped in a small space with both Stark and this Loki fellow was giving me a headache. I found it mildly amazing that even with out he or Stark speaking, they still managed to annoy me just by existing.

When that hatch opened and revealed at least a dozen heavily armed agents to escort him I couldn't have been more relieved. With Loki out of our presence it was like a pressure had lifted, and when Stark disappeared from our company too with the intent of removing his suit it only lifted more.

I wont lie, I'm sore. Each spot he hit me feels stiff and raw now, the flight giving the blows time to settle into my muscles. I might be even sporting a bruise under the uniform. I couldn't show that though, not on the flight in their presence. Allowing the enemy to see me display any sort of weakness would only ad fuel to his fire, and if Stark noticed he would be sure to drive the point home

I am not sure exactly what it is that Howard's son seems to have against me, but I can't help but notice that there is something. We never met before today, but it is rather clear he doesn't seem fond of me for some reason or another, and up until he spoken to me on the plane that was not an opinion I shared.

I had no personal issue or opinion of him really, outside of what I read about him. I even thought it might be nice to meet the son of my old friend face to face. I'm not so sure anymore.

"Captain..." The sound of a voice at my back surprises me a little at first. "...are you okay?" I had thought everyone walked off with the prisoner.

I don't need to turn to recognize the voice, it's the woman who was my escort and copilot. It's the woman I took too long to figure out was her 'sister'. The memory of Nora dragging me out to a Russian restaurant because see was lonely and depressed without her family around came back to late, and I didn't have time to ask about it before I had to rush to the salvation of a crowd of helpless civilians.

She is standing there, looking at me try to straighten back up, once again hiding the ache in my side. "Yes, thank you miss. I'll be fine."

I can tell she doesn't buy it, her training allowing her to see the pain in my posture despite my attempt at hiding it, she doesn't question my determination though. Both of us know that a few aches and bruised muscles aren't that important right now and can wait. "Good."

I thought that was going to be it, and that I would now have a chance to ask the question I so wanted to. About how Nora was doing and where she was. I didn't need to though, because she actually brought it up first. "She'll be glad to hear that when she comes back."

"Y-You knew..." I suddenly feel embarrassed, and even a bit guilty knowing that she knows about Nora and I, not that there is any real Nora and I. It's a confusing sensation, like I was somehow trying to keep a relationship that didn't exist a secret somehow. "...about us?" Even more so when I say it like that.

"That wasn't what I meant, I, Nora, and we are..." It's almost a blessing that she interrupts me. "Just friends, yes. I know."

"But how miss? If I can ask?" I remember Nora telling me that her 'sister' had been gone for a long time, before I even woke up, on an assignment that didn't allow her to contact her in anyway shape or form. It was supposed to be a deep cover assignment, with even communication from S.H.I.E.L.D being limited.

"Captain, this is S.H.I.E.L.D, we watch out for our own and she is my sister." She says with a little bit of a grin. "I know everything about Nora, and what she does..." there is another pause, and the way her grin grows only makes my sense of embarrassment return. "Even the way you stayed with her through the night on New Years to make sure she was okay."

My response was probably delivered too quickly. "It was only the couch ma'am, I swear." her confused expression says as much. "I see. Well Captain, we need to get to the bridge. We can talk about her afterwards, I know you want too. They'll be waiting for us."

The return of her 'down to business' attitude is a relief, even if her observation that I'm itching to find about Nora is a bit more embarrassing. Just given the way she talks about it I can tell she seems to think it is something more than friendship. Not that I can blame her, if I was looking at it from her perspective I might think the same thing. Some of the things I did with her now that I think about them seem like the kind of things you would do on a date.

"Yes, you're right." I respond, letting my own tone and attitude turn back to business. We still have a threat to deal with and an interrogation to get underway I am sure.

But as we walk off I still can't smoother the inner turmoil. _Oh god, I took Nora on DATES, how did I miss that. A carriage through central park on New Years?! What was I thinking?! What must her family think?! Smooth Rogers, really smooth..._

* * *

Sso look at that, we have the Captain again. I thought you would enjoy a little Steve, and well, I had to make him awkward, because it wouldn't be true to character if I didn't make him nervous when women were involved.


	89. Day 9: part 10

SORRY! SORRY! SORRY! OH YEAH, AND SORRY! I have been absent from here a little longer then I would like and I apologise. Life happened.

Anyways, Marvel is awesome, but also not mine. Nora and her menagerie however are. Now on to the reading.

* * *

The seat at the conference table I choose to take one that put me across from the Captain, who is at the moment the only other one sitting.

Doctor Banner is standing near one of the chairs, but he seems a little bit too anxious to actually use it. I suppose I can not blame the man for that, even if I do find it uncomfortable. He is trapped on an aircraft carrier a couple thousand feet in the air and surrounded by armed agents. I just really wish he would sit down.

The other one, Thor, who I know of through Coulson and Clint given their time in New Mexico, he too hasn't decided to use the chair. He at least isn't pacing. He is simply standing a few feet from us looking out the window into the dark night sky and letting his arms rest crossed over his chest.

We are all just waiting for it to begin.

On the monitors in the table in front of me I can see him. He is still in the company of his armed escort is they walk him into the cage room. He still has that smile on his face, the one I saw when I secured him to the seat of the plane, the one that mocked my helplessness. I hope Fury manages to remove that look.

Also for once I hope the Council sticks to their usual reaction. When we got a hold of the records and samples from Thor's stay in the hospital in Puente Antiguo and found out he wasn't human, their knee jerk reaction was to have him captured and executed is a threat, but he wasn't even around anymore for that.

When we noticed the similarity between his lab work and Nora's and then confirmed it, they wanted the same thing. To have us her killed.

So far their only response to an Asgardian seems to be that it needs to be destroyed, I hope they want that fate for Loki, and I know that if they do, this once, Fury will have no argument, or anyone really. Thor might, but at this point he would be alone in that opinion.

As I continue to watch I see the escort line up on either side of the loading dock to the cage, and there weapons lifted at last. If he doesn't cooperate and go into that prison they will shoot him, and well it may be true his armor held up to bullets back at the P.E.G.U.S.A.S base, with them this close it will be very hard for them to miss putting a bullet in his eye.

I'm almost disappointed that he seems more then happy to do it, and relieved. As much as I want Loki punished for what he has done, I know we need the information out of him first. He knows where they are, and second on 'my' scale of importance, he knows where the cube is.

As the sound of the locks click home through the monitor I can see the Director moving over to the control console. I don't need to hear it to know he plans to open with a threat, I can tell just but looking at fury. He is pissed, and serious. Loki has done enough to get under the directors skin, which is impressive, because I've never seen it done.

He opens the doors beneath the cage, demonstrating its purpose to the person inside. The roar of the wind through the feed prevents us from hearing what was inside during the time the doors were open, but we can still see Fury's mouth moving, and I at least can read his lips.

When they close and the sound does return the comparison the Director makes is almost amusing to me. It fades when he laughs.

I can see it in the Director too, what I am feeling. Dismay and anger. He disregards a threat of certain death, and he does it with a chuckle. He even goes so far is to compliment our efforts. He could dies at the press of a button, but he mocks us still.

I don't show the cringe, at least at first. When Fury tells him that the cage was made for something stronger I can't help but be a little worried. I saw the Hulk in action at Culver University, and 'I' told him that we had no ulterior motives here.

I understand why Fury would play this card, but I wish he wouldn't, not with Banner standing by and listening. It's even worse when Loki bites, and he bites with knowledge that Clint gave him.

I shouldn't look up when that is said, but I do anyways. Banner was suspicious before, and it was just confirmed he has a reason to be. I'm sure he may understand, but it is still a worry to me. Its my word that's broken, its his emotions, directed at me. I'm trained to take on a lot of things, but I could never come anywhere close to having a hope against the Hulk.

I turn my attention back away from Banner, despite my anxiety when he continues, the Director falling in with Loki's comment on desperation. He is letting Loki lead him whether Loki realizes it or not. Fury knows I am watching this, he ordered me to, to study him. So I know how to play him.

Loki is arrogant. We knew this already, and know we know he is good at words. He wields them just is effectively is the rumors had it.

When we confirmed the existence of the Asgardian race we did research into the rest, and even if that research was a venture into history and mythology it was better than knowing nothing.

He thinks he is better than all of us, and I am going to use that. I'm gonna let him be better than me, that's how I will get him.

I can see him turn to the camera again is he did before when he made that comment about the cage. He is directing whatever he plans to say to one of us. But when its said, I know who it is, and he isn't in here yet. Tony has yet to join this little party, so he didn't hear that, and that is good at least for us.

My sense of worry returns is the Director, with one final jab turns to leave. But this feeling has nothing to do with the Director and everything to do with that his gaze turns the camera again, he even moves closer to it. He has another message, and the only one he hasn't addressed is the Captain.

It is by the blessed timing of Agent Hill that camera goes dark. I don't show it, but if I did, it would be a breath of relief. I don't need my suspicion confirmed to know what he might have said. He has something to hold above all our heads, and above the Captains he would have only her.

I watch in silence, for the time being my gaze still looking at the now dark screen. But I see more then that too, I see Maria moving in behind Thor with wary steps, positioning herself for the chaos she expects and hopes to prevent on her watch. I hear the exchange between the men too.

When Banner mentioned Selvig my concern peaked again. It is only expected that he might mention the scientist because it was in the report, but I mentioned her to him too and am worried he will say her name.

We have no idea why Nora ended up on the earth, or even how long she has been here. We don't even know what her actual name is. 'Nora' only became her name because we discerned that from her mumbles is she spent years in our custody sleeping.

But even if it isn't the name the Asgardian might know her by, it's the only name Rogers does.

Thankfully all Thor is focused on is the state of Selvig. Before Banner has a chance to add anymore I fill in the rest, informing him of exactly what happened to one of his friends he made in New Mexico, but when I mention that he also took Clint I turn my head away from Banner, and Steve and even go so far is to lower my voice, because I only mention Clint, I say one of ours, not two. I hate myself a little for that betrayal to her, but I don't have a choice.

With her memory in my mind I can't stop the irritation the rises when Thor actually dares to defend his 'sibling'. He comes to the defense of a name that killed and kidnapped, and has probably tortured people I know and care about. He thinks so highly of his 'brother', so I tell him exactly what his 'brother' has done.

He at least has the decency to look ashamed when I give him the death toll caused by his brother, lying about the span of days since the base fell, to fit in with what we are telling them. But instead of taking back his words, he makes an excuse for Loki. I make myself turn away after that, calling on years of conditioning to return myself to a sense of calm.

It doesn't really have time to succeed before a familiar voice appears from behind me, answering a question before he is even all the way in the room. _Stark..._

When my original assignment with him was done before I can't lie, I was glad to be out of his company. His stubborn habit to do anything but what he should made working with and around him more difficult then what it needed to be. He has a knack for causing trouble where ever he goes.

Here, will be no different. I can tell when one of the first things he does gets a look of confused annoyance from our visiting god. I do wonder if Thor even realizes that Tony was the man in the suit he fought? I am pretty sure Stark had his helmet on before Thor got a chance to see him, and he kept it on through the rest of the flight.

My attention stays on Stark, as does Hills. I even notice the way she scans him over with her eyes moving from his head to toes, almost is if she is searching for a weapon. I can't blame her on that either, because expecting anything less then something unexpected it s dangerous practice around a Stark.

Both of us are watching his hands very closely while they are on the screen, poking away that the controls, but relax when they move beyond them, resting on the frame.

We both watch even more concerned is his attention is pulled over to Dr Banner. If there is someone that Stark probably shouldn't be left alone with in my opinion, it is him. Coulson to turns his focus to the pair form his spot behind them, the clipboard of files in his hands almost held defensively against his chest.

It is to the relief of everyone when the Director returns, and then the concern when he suggests that Stark helps Banner. It only flashes through my head for a second though, is the lab fury assigned Banner to work in has camera's and with the Banner they don't need to have audio surveillance, if something goes wrong the visual feed will be enough to know.

The conversation continues, but now I am not really paying attention. I am thinking about what I need to do next. Even when the Director makes a reference to Clint and Erik, but not Nora, I only vaguely pay attention. Fury won't let her situation be revealed since he is the one who ordered it to be kept secret.

My focus returns though, after Banner and Stark turn to leave. It's almost welcome, the reason why, and yet cringe worthy at the same time.

The Directors attention turns back to me now, and even though I can see the captain look my way is while with a hopeful expression I know what he wants isn't going to happen. "Agent Romanoff, would you come with me."

Fury is separating me from the Captain so I can't talk to him, and I know the conversation I am going to have with the Director is not going to be a nice one. He is not pleased with me, I can see it in his eye.

* * *

There you go, a Natasha chapter to make up for my absence. I hope you enjoy it.

Also on another note, I have begun the prequel to this. The story of Nora's days in S.H.I.E.L.D, leading up to the events of the Avengers. Once this is finished I will begin posting that, is well is thinking up the sequel to this one, and doing my best to not make it so it clashes with what the movies coming out will create.

So leave a review, and tell me what you think, or leave a suggestion of things you might like to see from back in the day Nora.


	90. Day 9: part 11

Yet another installment to the chapters list. I hope you enjoy it. Like always, I do NOT own Marvel. Carry on.

* * *

He only waits long enough for the sound proof doors of the interrogation room to close before I hear him ask the question I knew was coming. "Mind telling me why you thought telling Banner about her was a good idea, or are we just gonna pretend that didn't happen?"

Fury has, and likely always will be, a neutral force in Nora's life. Is the director of S.H.I.E.L.D ,he has to be. He does not dislike Nora, but he doesn't have any level of fondness toward her either. He is truly neutral about her and strictly objective. I respect that, even if I don't always like it.

"No sir" I reply completely without any tone to suggest an emotion. "I don't mind at all." I add before my no can be mistaken for refusal.

He doesn't speak, and he doesn't need to with the way his expression changes, making it clear he is waiting for me to explain. "I was establishing a sympathetic connection with the doctor, to humanize his perception of myself is something more than just a representative of S.H.I.E.L.D..." Before he needs to ask the other part I provide an answer for that is well. "...and set the ground work to increase the probability that, if they encounter each other, we retrieve her in a condition that still allows her to be useful to S.H.I.E.L.D."

I can see in his face easily enough that he doesn't buy that it is my only reason, but I don't really care if he does or not, nor do I plan on letting him bring it up. "S.H.I.E.L.D still does want her back do we not sir?"

There's a pause that is filled with an audible breath from his end, before the frustration and annoyance melts out of his gaze. "Yes, agent Romanoff, 'we' still want her back..." the 'we' is accented and I know why. S.H.I.E.L.D has always had, and likely will have a different opinion on her then the Council. Fury can usually talk sense into them, but depending on how we find her this time may be different.

He isn't done though. "...'we' also want our agent's objective. Are you still objective agent Romanoff?" There is no hesitation. "Yes sir."

His orders that follow are also not that much of a surprise. "Good. I need you to stay out of the Captains way for now." He offers me a look that says he is less than pleased about that is well, but doesn't question it. The fact that he doesn't leads me to believe he knows why I did it.

I brought her up to the Captain, to make him stop asking. He was practically going from agent to agent seeking a source of information about her, so I gave him one. I told him I knew her and everything about her so he would only come to me, so he would stop asking.

I don't mind Fury's order to avoid the Captain because I planned on it anyways. It's a bit cruel, but I baited and hooked the man with the intention the intention of stringing him along on a wild goose chase.

"I need you to get ready to interrogate Loki." That gets another yes sir from me, but his next words bring a bit of a frown. "She is not on the table the only priority is his plan and the cube. Is that clear?" My affirmation is a little bitten off at the end this time.

* * *

_I wonder if she knew about this?_ With Banner and Stark disappearing to the lab and agent Romanoff being summoned away to talk about something with the Director I am left by myself.

The Asgardian 'god' is he is apparently considered is still present, but I can tell his mind is somewhere else, and whatever he is thinking of seems important to him given the expression on his face. I don't want to interrupt that, and I don't really have a reason to. I'm not even sure what I would say to him if I did feel like talking.

When Fury called this world strange I didn't think anything could be stranger then dealing with HYDRA, and defying time. Now I find myself in the company of a god from another world, and I'm on a flying ship.

Nora told me about this, the carrier, once. I remember she said it was huge and amazing. But even she didn't mention anything about the fact that it flew. She might not have even known that, I'm sure if she did she would have brought it up.

As for the other thing, the god of thunder, I know the answer to that. Nora wouldn't know about him, not really. She is an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D, but a low level agent at best. The existence of an alien race visiting the planet wouldn't be something she would have been able to know. This is an intelligence organization after all, I'm sure that would have been classified information.

It's probably the best as well. I don't necessarily like the idea of people keeping secrets like that, but I understand it. It is part of the job. Also, it is Nora, sweet and sincere is she is, that would be something she would have a hard time not talking about, just for the excitement of it.

_She really was always so good to me. I hope I haven't ruined this._ When agent Romanoff told me she had been keeping tabs on her sister while she was away I couldn't help but be embarrassed, and a little ashamed.

Of course her sister the spy would watch over her and stay informed. It was a surprise, but it shouldn't have been one.

Now I am worried I ruined Nora's reputation. She is a kind and sweet and dear friend, and I know how people talk about her. She is a unique case, it's only natural that people find her interesting and intriguing. Normally I wouldn't care about that too much, the opinions of people outside of her friends.

Nora was always good at not letting that bother her. But her sister is different. Her sisters opinion would matter, a lot. It does matter. All the times and things I did with Nora are playing through my head, and how they must look to agent Romanoff.

It may be a hold over from 'my' time, but I can't help but feel ashamed. There is just a certain standard that you hold with a woman, a certain way you act and behave, especially with one who is only a friend. _How did I disregard that so completely?_

The wheels of the chair rattle a little is I finally push away from the table and get back to my feet.

I plan on trying to track down the agent that she is so close to. I want to talk to her, and maybe try and explain. I want to fix this damage I did to her reputation, I need too. I would never do anything to hurt Nora in anyway, and I would and will fix anything I did because she deserves it.

* * *

So another chapter is done, working more and more through the scenes of the movie. If it seems is if my level of quality has diminished I apologize, but please remember, this movie was not made to my vision, and I am trying to combine the two into one is best I can. Please leave a review if you feel so inclined and tell me if I am doing a good job.


	91. Day 9: part 12

Okay, one more chapter for you wonder folks and is usual, I do not own Marvel.

* * *

_They left me to idleness. _It was of course an expected part of the plan, but it is a boring part none the less.

My capture has a purpose, a set of them in fact. Causing dissension in the ranks is of course something of an amusement for me, but it is also my lesser purpose here.

I am being tracked, or more correctly, the scepter.

It is hardly a stretch for a man who spent time researching the Tesseract to create a device that is capable of scanning and locating the type of energy signature that it would give off. That's why I allowed myself to be taken.

This flying fortress they call the Hellicarrier would have been impossible for us to find otherwise, and is Barton pointed out, our chances of countering S.H.I.E.L.D's efforts would be meager at best if we could not even locate them.

I agreed with that logic, and left nothing to chance. I even left them a gift. That spy from that little island of a nation, he is here is well. I left him to be claimed by these people, on the chance that they did not arrive in time, and with a sufficient force, to claim me. If that had happened the energy of the Tesseract still coursing through his body would have been our means to track this facility.

Watching that man was nothing short of hilarious to me, I wound him so tightly around the idea of her. Even calling her an obsession to him now would be simplifying it. I set his mind to fixate on it more and more with time. I wonder if he can even breathe without her presence know? It would be something interesting to find out.

The scepter works so well on these mortals. It is almost a pity I can only use it on them. The idea of using it on Thor is a delightful little fantasy, but only that. Asgardian physiology is so different for these humans. The organs may be arranged similarly, but the flesh and tissue right down to the DNA, is different. The way the mind works is well is different. The scepter was not tuned for it.

I knew this when she came into my possession, I knew because I tried. When my newly acquired killer but her in my arms in the back of that vehicle and we continued our escape. I found myself with time. I tried, for curiosity sake, and if it had worked, convenience.

There was a moment there it might is well. The energy seemed to enter her. Te blue glow traveling over the blade into her flesh, but then it retreated, evaporating back out of her like iridescent mist. Her own magic, while still sleeping, was strong enough to defy the influence of the scepter.

That should have been an annoyance and a setback. It pleased me more. The plan forming in my head was all the more intriguing. Her power was even more potent then I remembered it. It would serve me even more.

I can feel it too, the strength of hers.

I knew there was always going to be power in her blood, for she is the grand niece of Eir. Eir's sister may have ignored and squandered the powerful potential of her magical blood, but it did not mean it no longer existed. That magic was passed to this woman's mother, and in turn to her.

I knew of it in her, from witnessing it in Asgard, though there it was only a glimpse. Vanir though she is, she born in Asgard, and raised in its culture. Asgardian's have no love of magic, even though they take advantage of it so.

Because of that prejudice, even though her people were and are a race that wields magic well, she used it seldom in the view of others eyes. While it was not strictly forbidden to wield magic in Asgard, the opinion of it was still a social taboo, more so depending on the gender of the wielder.

A woman could, with only mild disregard of her skill, get away with it. Magic after all was the domain of a woman. They were meant to use it, for what other purpose should it be put to if not healing?

In the halls that Eir ruled by reputation and skill, the use of magic was only truly accepted there, by the greedy desire of those who realized how they needed it. But of course, once they were healed, magic was once again something to mock.

If the Vanir were not assimilated into Asgard, if her people had not been defeated and humiliated, she may have been a great wielder of it, her name is well known is that of Eir herself. But history denied her that.

Instead, she used her gifts in secret and shame. A power that should have been wielded proudly before the eyes of others was restrained, and if was witnessed by others was followed with an apology.

Is much is I hate and despise that reality of Asgard I suppose I must be thankful for it too. While they may have belittled and scorned me for my gifts in magic, the same social atmosphere is serving me now. Her own skills were never fully utilized, and her lack of education in it only made my plans easier.

I can feel her, like the warmth of a sleeping creature on my chest. It s not heavy, as it has no actually mass, but a gentle heat is it waits patiently to be used. But this heat, it has depth. More then I imagined for one so small.

Her magic may be of a different then mine, but even knowing that, I think I could truly turn this little woman of Vanahiem into something to be feared.

The Vanir have become a docile and dim shade of what they once were, when a realm is their own. They have become lesser citizens of Asgard, the descendants of a defeated people, born into the realm of their conquerors, denied and discouraged of their gifts.

The years of slowly blending into the race of Asgard made them forget, but having her power to wield, I am filled with a sense of a respect I did not have before. I can see now, a glimpse into why that war was so bloody. They truly were a race of warriors after all.

* * *

AUTHORS NOTE: Last review I got, for one "Dymentional Warrior" brought to my attention that things were a little confusing for said reviewer. So on the assumption that there might be more who are also confused, but haven't left a review telling me so, I'm going to try and clears somethings up.

Right now, in terms of Nora, yes, she does have her memories returning to her, but... its not that simple. They are in pieces after all. Also, though, they aren't 'her' is far is she is concerned. She knows they are her memories, but at the same time she has had three years to develop her new self, and these memories are at odd with that. So she is trying to hang on to the kind of woman she has become and not loss herself against the strength of her old memories and personality.

Also I was told that my timeline is confusing, and I know why that is. Becuase, is I have said before, I want to make this into more then one story, I am dropping bits and pieces. they aren't meant to make much sense right now, they are really there to make you curios and to set up for future events in the story. So i apologize if that is annoying, but rest assured I do actually have this all lined out in a timeline.

Well, please leave a review is always. I look forward to them, and if you have an issue with my story please tell me, its how I improve, on the story, and writing in general.


	92. Day 9: part 13

I own nothing, at least nothing worth being sued over. Marvel is still not mine, and likely never will be but such is life.

* * *

What I find myself doing is not something I should be doing. I should be reporting the latest member of the Stark family to S.H.I.E.L.D, I should be assigning a guard in that room, I should be going to try and find the agent I was looking for in the first place. Instead, I'm reading signs because I am trying to find something I don't have the authorization to go looking for.

I'm a soldier, and as such I know the value of following orders. I also know when to ignore them. I made a promise to do the right thing and be a good man a long time ago. Well I'm more than willing to do is I am told, I won't do it if I don't feel it's right.

I don't feel this is right. I'm doubt this situation now. I'm picking at things I've seen and heard since I got here.

There's the things that Banner and Stark pointed out. I can see why I would over look those, its still something over my head, talk of this modern technology. I've been catching up over the last year, but its still all so beyond me that I can't follow it unless its explained. Once it is though, I get it.

They have a power source; he is advancing the way power sources are used. Its simple enough math, if they were really being upfront about that then he would have already been here.

Its things Stark and Banner didn't say either, but the Director did. ...I don't know about that, but I would like to know... when I mentioned how it reminded me of a HYDRA weapon he had a response, and it was a quick one.

How would he know how a HYDRA weapon worked? And more importantly, why would he? This man would have even been born when I took down HYDRA.

I get that they recovered the cube, so he does have that bit of knowledge to pull from. I will give him that, but his answer was too confident, it was too sure.

I know there are times when you should take things on faith, but I also know there are times when you should question everything, because its the only way you will find the truth. That's all I want right know, the truth. Whether it shatters my faith in this organization or sets it. Its what I am going to find out.

* * *

It was beautiful, and nothing but a deception. One I made only to torture myself in ignorance.

It was, pain, that's the best word I have for it. Pain, a tearing agony in my soul. It was centuries of emotion and memory hitting me all at once from all sides. I couldn't get away from it. So my drifted into it instead.

It found a point, and somehow it fixated on that.

I was in Norway. I was cold and hungry and dirty. My hands were calloused from hard work. My dress was layers of coarse cotton and patches. My shoes were the stiff and wearing hides of an animal that once was also a meal. I had a woolen cloak to shield me from the wind, and wild hair was blowing in my face.

But I didn't care about any of that. It didn't matter to me, not more than the child in my arms.

Oh I loved that little boy. With as flaxen blonde hair and those bright blue eyes. That boy was going to be my salvation. He didn't have to be mine, I didn't need to give to birth to that little human boy to love him, he was still mine.

I carried him, sleeping happily in my arms, back to our tiny earthen home, accompanied by a man and a pair of dogs. It was dug down into the earth, with walls of wattle and stone, and a roof of overgrown thatch, but it was our haven, and home. I made it, for him. So the child would have a place to grow be safe.

I settled down to stay in one place for this little boy. I stopped wandering for him.

His mother died, succumbing to an infection too far along for me to stop, and she left me, knowing that her infant son was asleep in the room beyond, and he had no one left to take of him.

I did not want to take the boy, for I knew what it would mean, but I could not leave a child to suffer and starve. I took the boy, whose name I did not know, and I named after the gulls that he cried like.

I found a father for the boy is well.

A man by the name of Ormarr, who knew my face from his past. I had once healed his ailing mother when he was a child, so in return, he took up a smithing hammer against a peasant mob that turned on me, incited by an angry priest I refused, a priest who was not sick, and did not want to share my skills with those he was meant to serve.

Very few people in that age of disease would raise a hand against a healthy man of skill. There were not enough of them left to let one go to waste.

He protected me, and because I protected Skari he protected him is well.

That little boy was my gate to paradise again. I did not think I could be happy on earth, but he made it so. I had a little family here.

A 'husband', the blacksmith. It was a ruse of course. Ormarr never asked me to share his bed nor did I offer, but the 'wife' of a man of skill was treated with the same respect in that age is the man, for you would not want to give him a reason leave your service.

A child, whose blonde hair and blue eyes were explained away with a single word. Widow. For it was no uncommon occurrence for a woman to lose her partner to death and find a new one to provide for her.

A woman, myself, whose hands were skilled in the knowledge of a midwifes.

That was my life, and it was happy. It is where my mind latches in this sea of intensity, these memories of a simpler time.

They stick there so well that I think I actually forgot that these were memory's. This was the past, and not something I was living now.

It was a pain, a physical one that forced that realization on me. My back felt like it was raw with heat, and I wondered suddenly why if it felt so hot that I didn't smell smoke.

My mind was distant and weak, and it is for that reason that I blame the odd nature of my thoughts. But one thing I do know quite clearly is I am angry.

I've been robbed.

I knew peace from these feelings once. I can remember coming to terms with them, the painful emotions dulling with time. Its not dull now. They are fresh and jagged and cruel.

I was robbed. I remember a woman who was me, but isn't me at the same time. I came to him for help, and he took the thing most precious from me.

I will not be robbed again, not by him or anyone. I will make everyone deceived me and betrayed me suffer for that decision.

I will not lose myself, not again. I will not lose.

* * *

So there is chapter 92, and with it comes a little insight into Nora, because if you hadn't thought about it before, you have now. Nora is a lot older then we know after all, so something had to happen in that time. So tell me what you think, please and thank you.


	93. Day 9: part 14

Quick disclaimer, Marvel is not mine, now on to the reading part. Enjoy.

* * *

Is one of the few agents that actually had encountered the visiting god it is no surprise that Fury ordered me to monitor and deal with him if he needed anything, it also wasn't that surprising when he finally tracked me down.

I was the one that he made the deal with S.H.I.E.L.D with after all, promising his loyalty and service to us in exchange for the return of Miss Fosters research.

It was again not a surprise when the topic he brought up was her. It was pretty clear to me from that brief encounter how he felt about her. He bargained for what she wanted after all, and then is he departed, he did it with a kiss.

True to our agreement, after he left our world for wherever his was, we returned her research. We also put her on our payroll.

She became an employee f S.H.I.E.L.D, her research was now suddenly that much more important to global security. Wormholes prior to his visit had been something of interest that our scientific division might someday pursue, now it was the top priority, and she was given her own facility, completely with her own team and the authority to requisition any and all equipment she would need.

The same of course went for her whether excitable and outspoken assistant, Miss Lewis. She too was given a position within S.H.I.E.L.D's scientific division.

The reasons behind it were rather obvious ones. We made an agreement with Thor to allow her the return of her materials so she could continue her research, but we weren't just going to leave her to do it is she pleases.

These people had a direct encounter with an otherworldly visitor, allowing them out of our sight would have been irresponsible of S.H.I.E.L.D.

Telling him directly though that we kept a woman he seemed to have a certain level of romantic affection for, under close and careful surveillance however would have been a bad idea is well.

However is I pull up her file on the screen in front of us and navigate through it quickly I also get the sense that such a thought never even entered his mind, is if he just assumed that we treated her with every respect and courtesy possible.

"As soon as Loki took the doctor, we moved Jane Foster." There is the tiniest of pauses is I recall how the situation involving her actually played out.

"They've got an excellent observatory in Tromso." When we arrived, a line of black humvees, and a set of four suited agents emerging from each of them with nothing short of military clockwork like precision she was not happy to see us.

"She was asked..." That is not true. We did not ask her. Is I was explaining the situation to her the other agents were gathering up an thing that she might need that could be transported in the vehicles we arrived in. "...to consult there very suddenly yesterday." Then when they were done with that we collected her is well. She was very displeased with that, threatening even to inform the god himself of how we manhandled her.

"Handsome fee, private plane, very remote." The part about the fee was true, her salary would easily provide for her needs, and that of Miss Lewis, it wasn't however like it sounded. Her salary in S.H.I.E.L.D was the same is what we would pay her in Tromso.

"She'll be safe." She calmed down after I spoke again, her annoyance with us evaporating is she realized the seriousness of the situation. I told her, that if he came back just to argue with us we would gladly welcome him with open arms back to earth, if we were still around to do it.

In a way, we have is well. It has hardly been a banner and parade reception, given how unexpectedly he arrived and what he did immediately after. But I, is well is most of S.H.I.E.L.D, am actually very relieved to have him here.

He is a source of 'real' information on the threat we are facing. Until he arrived we didn't have one of those. Our greatest source up until that point was the myths and for a military intelligence organization those aren't enough.

"Thank you." Even having met this man before, I am still a little struck by how simple he is. While I do not think this man is stupid by any means it is also clear is no academic. He addresses things that come his way in a direct fashion, whether they are situations, conversations, or the soldiers I once threw in his path.

The world is simple for him, and I'm almost jealous of that a little. Working for S.H.I.E.L.D like I do, the world is never simple.

"It's no accident, Loki taking Erik Selvig..." He offers me a glance following his thank you before he moves on to his next predictable concern. His worry over a woman he seems to love has been dealt with, now it is his worry over a man he called a friend. "...I dread what he plans for him once he's one."

That is a concern we have is well. Based on the footage we did manage to retrieve and the Directors own account of the scene we almost lost the Doctor already. When he mentioned the affiliation between Thor and Loki, the man in question turned to him, with nothing short of angry disgust in his eyes. If the Director hadn't distracted him he very well might have killed Dr Selvig right then.

Instead he was given time to think about it, and took a man who knew his brother is his personal slave. A move to acquire a useful tool and eventually send a message, not just to us but Thor is well. Loki does not seem like the kind to keep a tool beyond its usefulness.

"Erik is a good man." That is a statement I have no question of, I know it myself. In fact, there were many times I had to deal with how 'good' of a man he was. He knew about Nora is well. Its why they were introduced to each other in fact. Dr. Selvig was one of the few to have direct interaction with one of her race. We were hoping that could give us some insight into her.

We chose him, and not Miss Foster or Miss Lewis because he was the better choice by far. His age gave him a degree of wisdom, and restraint, that we did not think the other two would have. We did not want her to know her unique racial situation until she remembered it herself, without interference.

The ladies would have been too excited about it to ever possibly keep it a secret.

We gave him orders to withhold all information regarding Miss Elaine's heritage from them, and her is well.

He was never happy about that. That we had him spying on her like we did. That was his job in regards to her, to observe and report anything that could indicate the return of her memory or abilities.

When he realized who else we had watching her he was almost livid. I remember that conversation well. He didn't even say hello, he just demanded to know when we were going to tell him we planned on killing her. He saw her with Agent Barton, and his mind came to only one conclusion. It wasn't a poor assumption on his part either, given Barton's specialty, but it was wrong.

He had every intention of telling her the truth than, to protect her. I had to explain to him that well his intentions may have been honorable, following this course would only have the opposite effect.

If he told her, and she became unstable then we would have no choice but to put her in a state of permanent containment. She would end up restrained in some small room, her arms and legs bound, and would be subjected to test after test with her only human contact being the scientists and nurse's administering her meds.

He was not happy with that either. But it made him give in. He too had become fond of her by that point, and didn't want to be the reason that fate fell on her. He agreed to keep his mouth shut.

He still however talked to her about Barton. He didn't give anything to suspicious away, but he questioned her on why she acted toward him the way she did. He thought maybe she was unaware of what he was.

That was something she always knew though, almost right from the beginning. She never had a real issue with it, and when he brought it up to her she still didn't. She trusted Barton without question.

Yes, Dr Erik Selvig is a good man, perhaps even at times too good for the kind of things we do here.

"He talks about you a lot,..." There is a pause is I stand, a small sigh leaving me is I push up of the control console and take the few steps necessary to move around the large warrior in the room. Given who he is it seems more fitting to call Thor a warrior than a fighter or a soldier.

"...you changed his life. You changed everything around here." Is I walk away from the monitors we continue the conversation. The visiting Asgardian following me is I speak to him over my shoulder.

"They were better is they were." This conversation is not is innocent is it seems. Even right now, talking to a man I have some respect for, I am still doing a job. I am an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D, I am a spy, and it is my job to always be looking for information.

"We pretend on Asgard that we are more advanced, but we...we come here battling like bilge-snipe." That word right there is one thing I was looking for. I have no idea what it is so it is something of interest and I ask is much.

He repeats the word I do not recognize before continuing on to elaborate. "You know. Huge, scaly, big antlers." He even at this point raises his hands to gesture for effect, but the way he does it resembles to me more an odd web video I once saw come out of japan, its title had something to do with caramel. "You don't have those?" I push those amusing thoughts aside, using my training is an agent for purposes it wasn't originally intended for is I do my best to stay serious. "I don't think so."

However, given that the last huge thing I know of that had anything to do them proved to be whether powerful, and destructive, I think knowing about this one can only be useful to us. "They are repulsive." He allows a few seconds of silence to pass, and given his expression of mild disgust I can only imagine he is recalling how repulsive said creature must be.

"They trample everything in their path" That is another useful bit of information for us, but also one I can't say I like. I am beginning to see a trend with almost everything that comes from Asgard, so far she has been the only exception.

While his steps carry him further toward the window then mine, I come to rest near the railing. He seems to have more and more on his mind is he lets his eyes look out into the night sky. I wonder if he can even see anything out there or if, like us, it only looks black and empty.

"When I first came to Earth, Loki's rage followed me here..." Despite my best effort I allow a scowl to cross my features, justifying its acceptance on the fact his back is to me. I had a feeling that he was referring to the new Mexico incident and he of course confirms it is he continues."...and your people paid the price, and now again."

He also confirms another suspicion of ours. That the man we have in our custody was responsible for the events back then. We had an idea of who it might have been that sent the Destroyer, but given the abrupt way he disappeared from our reach we were never able to confirm it.

I know it is not Thor's fault, for he was attacked by that thing is well, but I still can't help but be upset by it. We lost agents that day, and some of them did not have the fortune of a quick and easy death. By the time we put out the fires we were pulling bodies from the vehicles is well, not people.

My attention drifts a little from him I hear another set of footsteps approach. I recognize those footfalls well enough to know who it is. He has a specific pattern to his steps, much like everyone else does really, but the swish of his leather jacket also makes it very clear.

"War hasn't started yet." He says in response to Thor's own statement, while at the same time he gives me a nod in greeting, is well is dismissal. The Director wants to take over this conversation now, and I am more than willing to let him do that. Now my part in this is just the silent observer.

* * *

So there you have it, another chapter down. And yes, if you didn't catch it, Coulson pictured Thor doing caramelldansen. lol. So like I usually ask for, please leave a review.


End file.
